Ever since Sufie got sick she's been an indoor cat. In fact, I'm not even letting her in the basement these days because she always comes back covered with cobwebs with dirty paws. So imagine my shock when I heard a strange, "Chuck, chuck aaaroooyee" sound coming from under the couch.
I'd just come from work. Sufie met me at the door. Everything about her spelled excitment - inability to concentrate, raised fur, active tail, etc. To the couch she went. Butt in the air, she reached under as far as her fat little body would let her. "Chuck, chuck aaarooyee," I heard. The noise terrified me. What kind of creature says that? If it was a lizard, I swear I'd still be locked in the bedroom. But the beast squeaked, and that's when I knew it was a squirrel.
I equipped myself with thick leather gardening gloves and went in for the capture. Sufie drove the squirrel into the drapes. I grabbed. He climbed. I grabbed again. This time I got him cornered in the folds. I put my hands around him and gently pried him from the curtain.
When I got to the door disaster struck. I had to let go with one hand to turn the knob. My captive sunk his long nut-cracking incisors into the pinky of my right hand. "You bastard," I said. Being of legitimate parentage, the squirrel bit harder.
I got him out the door and put him on his back in the ivy. Still, he kept his grip. "Isn't this better than being inside?" I pleaded. "You can let go now."
The squirrel relinquished nothing until I eased my hand out of the glove. When he realized he was biting leather, he squeaked twice, flipped over and dove into the ivy.
Fortunately, such gray-furred menaces do not usually carry rabies, as I found out later at the emergency room. All is well. My finger has healed and Sufie's sleeping soundly.
