A squirrel came a-knocking

I have started wearing shirts over my t shirts. This was a decision based on the fact that I have a lot of shirts and never wear them. I decided to justify the ownership. But never did I realise how handy this decision would be.

Today, just after lunch, we were sitting in the Entertainment Zone when there came a tippy tippy tap tap on the big glass doors. It was a baby squirrel.

We kept the girls inside and went to investigate. Mirinda lost sight of her and had to go and make a work call. I kept the doors closed, allowing the squirrel to return to where ever she had come from.

When I finally did go outside, I found the squirrel, sitting by the Secret Arch, nibbling something. As I watched she hopped slowly and leisurely across the grass, eventually reaching the pile of old compost bin boards by the conifer.

I decided to sit and keep an eye on her, hoping a responsible parent would turn up to fetch her home. Unfortunately, what did turn up was the Crazies’ cat, sitting mewling from the magnolia. I knew I had to rescue the baby squirrel from the feline.

I grabbed my gardening gloves (I’d read they can be quite needle teethy) and carefully took her off the wood and sat with her, safely in my hand. She was perfectly happy to nibble on the ends of my gloved fingers and trying to get inside the glove along with my hand.

After a while I realised the glove wasn’t necessary and she played with my fingers instead. This was fine except when she decided to bite the tips. Her teeth, though incredibly tiny, were apparently lined in tungsten and sharpened to impossible points. It’s hard to describe just how sharp her teeth were. It made me realise how an acorn feels.

So, the two of us had a lovely time, sitting together on the terrace while Mirinda worked away on Skype (or Zoom or Meet-Up or Microsoft something or other). Eventually she joined us and went all a bit gooey over my new friend.

I’d decided to call her Fang.

To look at her, you’d probably go more for something like Baby Squirrel Nutkin but, one bite of her vicious teeth and Fang was the first thing that sprang to mind.

Mirinda then rang around trying to find some sort of wildlife sanctuary, asking for advice more than anything. I had looked up squirrels and the various ages. Fang was, by my reckoning, all things considered, about 8-10 weeks old. At this age they are capable of leaving the nest and surviving.

Mind you, Fang was far too friendly so I doubt she’d have survived the cat next door. She didn’t even run from Freya and I’m certain that all baby squirrels are taught to avoid Freya from an early age. Perhaps Fang was just a bit of a maverick, venturing out to experience the world. She certainly settled down with me for a long while.

At one point she decided to have a poke around my head. Obviously, being a grey squirrel, she mistook my roots for her mother.

All her adventures wore her out eventually and so Fang curled up and slept in my shirt.

I don’t normally tuck my shirts in and, in fact, I’ve frequently written about how I dislike tucking my shirts. The thing was, I had to bring in the washing. This seemed an ideal tuck situation.

She quite happily snuggled up to me as I, carefully, took the clothes off the line and took them inside.

Finally, Mirinda had all the information she needed. Apparently the government is Animal Racist because they don’t want anyone helping grey squirrels (and other select foreigners). I guess it’s no surprise with the Brexity Tory Government we are condemned with.

The sum total of information led us to believe that the ideal would be to return her to the wild.

It was a sad farewell as I placed Fang in the ivy covered conifer. She hung, claws outstretched for a little while then made a high pitched screeching sound (I’m sure this was a thank you and farewell to me) before dashing off up the tree at great speed.

The end of this story will be about a year from now. I’ll be sitting on the terrace, drinking a beer, enjoying the sunshine when, suddenly, a squirrel will appear. She will look at me and start to run off. Then, with a flicker of recognition, she will slowly come closer.

She will stand regarding me. Then she’ll give a little friendly wave of a paw and a screech. I will know it’s Fang.