The best part of the entire episode is Mare, standing over the cat with great concern.
“Why is she acting like that?” Mare asks. She has tried to stroke Sunshine, who is perched on the back of the leather chair. But the cat just keeps clicking and yarlwoling toward the ceiling.
I, being a veteran owner of cats, follow the gaze with great anxiety to where it rests, just over Mare’s head.
Holy shit, dude.
“Sunshine, it’s okay,” Mare is saying, innocently stroking between fuzzy feline ears, no idea what is hanging on the ceiling about three feet above her own cranium.
As I look at her, all I can think is:
”Okay, girls, everyone upstairs.”
“But — why?” Mare asks.
“NOW!” I say. They go, and the squirrel shifts only a little, staring at me.
I sit on the pink settee, across from him, considering my options. He is centrally located, nowhere that I can shut him in or that we can really be on the first floor away from him. I know if I approach, he’ll fly, and things will get really exciting.
I call the neighbor who works for the rescue league. Nothing. I call animal control, but they’re closed after 5:00 and really only deal with domesticated animals. I briefly consider 911 because, you know, there’s a freaking flying squirrel on my ceiling and I really don’t care how hard anyone laughs as long as they take it out.
“MOMMA! We’re huuuuuuungry!!” the girls call from the closed bed room.
“Stay in there!!’
And then I do what a girl does: I called That Grand Man.
“Dad,” I say. “There’s a freaking flying squirrel on my ceiling.”
“How do you know it’s a flying squirrel?” he asks.
“It has webbing.”
“Yeah, that sure sounds like a flying squirrel. Interesting.” We chat about the migratory habits of squirrels.
“CAN WE COME DOWN FOR SOME WATER?” the girls call.
“Shut up, you kids!” I reply.
At Dad’s suggestion, I call an exterminator. I go down the list on Google, getting voicemails on the first five listings. The sixth has an “emergency hotline.” A guy named Jim answers and tells me he is going to get his son in law and be there in an hour.
I bring the girls water and crackers, and turn on Noggin. They’re happy smearing crumbs into my bed. I put a large pan under the squirrel in case he little legs give. Sending him, crashing, into the floor. With his webbing all splayed out.
I sit on the settee to stare at him. It’s dark. And late, and dinner isn’t started and the house is a pit and I have work to do and I am very worried about how much this is going to cost and I really need him out of here right now.
I call that Grand Man back.
“Is he moving?” he asks.
“No. But I don’t want to run the risk that he’ll be airborne if I turn my back. I’m going to keep an eye on him.”
“Yeah, you have to stay with him until someone comes.”
And then we’re talking about being parents, and being protective. And about the special election in Massachusetts and how the dryness in Colorado makes it feel less cold and that no one plows reliably so he drives in ice a lot. I don’t tell him to be careful, but I want to.
I think about how our relationship is changing. He is a Granddad, now, and his voice has gotten gravelier, here in my living room across a phone line, across a country. He reminds me of his own Dad sometimes, has the same rhythm to his voice, the same slightly English New England accent. But he’s more modern, talks faster, and is still my Dad.
We are communicating in the shorthand of our kind, and it fits like a favorite old sweater.
“I hope these guys show up,” I say, glancing out the window. He tells me he has noticed a decline in the quality of customer service in this country, and he attributes it to the Republicans. The last Administration lied so much, he says, did whatever they hell they pleased, it set the tone for the country.
I reply that it may be similar to the trend of girls giving boys sexual favors in middle school in the mid-nineties because it wasn’t sex. There is a pause and then he says that he doesn’t agree with Obama on the mortgage refinancing and we agree on that point.
What kind of example is it to bail out the cheaters? we ask. And what would it do to inflation?
Headlights in the driveway.
“They’re here,” I say. He has been on the phone with me an hour. That Grand Lady, the girls’ Gran, has brought him water twice. The squirrel has stayed where he is and in a minute or two he will be out, I will write a check, bring the girls down, and get an abbreviated evening routine going. It’s going to be okay.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
And in the extreme luxury of still being his little girl, I am comforted.
What a great post about Dad’s. Mine is 80 now and I’m in my 50′s, but I still call him Daddy. I have never considered myself a “Daddy’s Girl”, but really like knowing that he is in the world with me.
I don’t have a dad…I mean…I had a FATHER, but not a dad. It makes me appreciate the one my boys have, even when I can’t stand him.
What the hell with the wildlife, you? Crimeny!
I agree about this being a great post about dads. I also have a father, not a dad. I’m grateful my girls have the great dad they do.
I will admit though, I was hoping the little bugger would fly. Those pictures would have been awesome!
You can tell I’m a cat lady, because through this whole post, I’ve been wondering, “What? Sunshine’s never done that out the window at a bird before? Seriously, how can Mare have cats and NOT know what that means??”
Holy F’ing shit, indeed. You had a FLYING SQUIRREL. In your LIVING ROOM. Lesser women would have screamed, crapped their pants, or possibly both.
I know this was a sweet post about your dad at the end of the day, but a FLYING SQUIRREL. How did a flying squirrel get in your house?
That is so cool! I always thought of flying squirrels as exotic for some reason – something from far off that wouldn’t exist in our hemisphere.
You’re lucky to have a dad you can talk to like that. It sounds wonderful.
Great story! Flashbacks to the bat in our house as kids. My Mom was not as calm as you!
Also remembering calling Dad when I came home, toddler on the arm, to a burst pipe in the ceiling and a flood in my family room. Inches of water on the floor, a CLOUD on the ceiling, water gushing down the walls …
“Daddy, what do I do?!?!” “Honey. Turn off the water.”
Dad’s can really rock sometimes.
Liz. This would only happen to you. When is life going to give you a break. Really? A flying squirrel in the living room.
I thought flying squirrels were exotic, too, and had never been that close to one.
How did he get in the house? The cat dragged him in, I am afraid. I know, it seems unlikely, but it’s true. The end of the story is the part where she comes back, looks up at the spot in the ceiling … and is devestated. Not mad or agitated, just really sad. That was her dinner. And I took it away. He was all juicy in the middle, Momma! How come you took him??
The hazards of the Tilty-Floored farmhouse. Sometimes we are TOO close to nature.
And yes, my Dad, that Grand Man, is a lot of fun. So I really appreciate just how great my girls have it.
Great post, but I am curious…did the squirrel live?
Annemarie — I think he was released a good bit up the road from us. But I suspect he was injured and don’t know whether he made it.
This brought me to tears. See, my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer last week, and surgery will happen before Christmas. We’re not close in that “chat about all things under the sun” sort of way, but in a crisis, when I don’t know what to do, he’s my Grand Man.
I adore Dads like that!!! What a wonderful gift he is.
Last week my sons car broke. I called my dad. He is 6 hours away but he hopped in his car and came to take a look at it the next day. With tools.
Dads like that make me feel all pink puffy hearted inside.
You’ve got a good one girlfriend!!
dawn
yipes. love my dad.
I love being able to call and ask for help or advice from my dad. Unfortunately I am literally across the country from him so there is no driving over for help but I know if he was closer he totally would. As it is he has helped me fix broken household things over the phone!
And I also join the ranks of “really? a flying squirrel? don’t they live in South America or something?”:)
This is nice – I call my dad too – International call – Once when i needed to fix my washing machine, He actually walked me though some instructions!!
I hope the squirrel makes it. I totally had a pic of Scrat and The Lady from Ice Age 3 in my head…
Liz,
Loved the story about being your daddy’s little girl… There is nothing quite so comforting as hearing your dad’s soothing voice, even if he is thousand of miles away…
How did little squirrel get into the house??
Love this post – Oh I really miss my Dad but know he is looking after us and guarding us from flying squirrels and other beasties – Big hugs to all Daddies and all little grown up girls who wish theirs were still here!
I am not a Daddy’s girl but my daughters are and that makes me SO happy. They know that he loves them no matter what and they can trust him. What a blessing!
Flying squirrel? COOL.
My pure white fluffy (we don’t call her “fat”) cat will also do that slow rumbling, gurgling sound when she’s cornered something. It is the highlight of her day to spend it staring and calculating her next move. Even if a next move never happens!
ok you gave me a good chuckle with the squirrel. I needed that as I am quarantined at home with 2 kids with the swine flu. thanks for the laugh!
” And in the extreme luxury of still being his little girl, I am comforted. ”
Oh my, my heart is full. you see, I only have memories…
Thank You.
I had a cat who did this. He could catch a bird but he was not really handy at killing it. So he took them inside our house, to the bedroom, under the bed. So they could not really get away.
I found out the day he caught a young starling. The little one screamed loudly, that’s how I found out.
I would have been in the room with the girls, hiding.
I find myself reading this blog about 3 times a week. You are such a great mother!