Fluffytailed Menace
Created | Updated Mar 20, 2011
Nature – especially nature in the form of small, furry animals – is cleverer than we think. Read on to find out about the...
Fluffy-Tailed Menace
Elektra and I have decided that the reason people tolerate squirrels better than rats is the tail. Rats, which are basically nice creatures, intelligent and affectionate when domesticated, get bad press because of their naked tails. People look at them and go, 'Ewww!' Some even climb on chairs to get away from them. Squirrels, on the other hand, usually evoke a different vowel, more like 'Awww!' This is entirely due to their pert, fluffy tails that curl into a question mark. Squirrels are just a mendacious and flea-bitten as rats, but they get you to feed them rather than call the exterminator. And, like rats, they are sharp as tacks, let me tell you.
A few weeks ago, Elektra and I had to leave for three days on short notice. Joe the maintenance man was kind enough to feed the cats, but we didn't like to impose further, so we took Ariel the dog with us and locked up our ground-floor flat, figuring the birds and squirrels could get what the Lolcats site calls their 'noms' from the nutty lady a few doors down (rather than the nutty people at our place) for a little while.
We returned, and the birds and beasts were soon back in force. I noticed, however, an unusual amount of stray birdseed on the floor of the porch. 'Hey,' I remarked to Elektra, 'You're scattering seed in here.'
Elektra looked. 'There's a hole in the bag,' she noted before sweeping it all out the back door. I was surprised. The 'noms' were encased in double plastic bags from the Superbullseye. I hadn't thought they were fragile.
Our 'porch' is really a room with a concrete floor, surrounded on three sides by apartment building, with an open side consisting of a screen door and wooden slats covered with heavy wire mesh. I've been happy with it all winter – Boozardina, the sneaky black cat, hasn't made any holes in it, and appears to be content to enjoy the view of a couple of dozen birds and at least six squirrels during feeding times. Nature at its best: peaceable until the crows show up to fuss at the squirrels. The squirrels ain't giving an inch, so the cussing is considerable on both sides.
Yesterday, we noticed something odd: one bright-eyed little tree rodent actually sidled up to the screen porch and peeked in. I swear he looked disappointed when he saw us there. Anyway, he hopped off with a swish of his adorable tail, leaving me wondering why he'd been willing to come so close. Boozardina has been known to lunge at them. She even flashes a paw out from under the unsecured bottom of the screen, in between the supports. Startled a birdie that way once or twice.
This morning, however, I got an answer to the peeping-squirrel conundrum. I wasn't really awake yet, so it came as a bit of a shock. I opened the back door and stepped onto the porch in my pyjamas, closely followed by Ariel, whose idea of following distance is about 18 inches. Boozardina was there, acting crazy.
'What's your problem?' I asked the cat, who was running about in (to me) unnecessary circles. She meowed at me as if questioning my sanity and/or powers of observation. It was then that I turned my gaze upward – and jumped high enough to scare the dog.
As I said, I wasn't awake yet. It took me a minute to focus on the fact that the squirrel clinging to the top of the screen – a largish one, as long as Boozardina herself if you counted his Attractive Asset – was actually inside the porch, rather than outside, as was right and proper. As the screen offered insufficient purchase for a climbing cat, Mr Fluffytail was safe, so I started to laugh. Before long, Elektra came to see what ailed her menagerie.
'How in the world...?' she demanded. I shrugged. We shooed the uncooperative cat and curious dog back indoors, and Elektra went to get a broom, overexcited squirrels, for the cornering of. While she was gone, I opened the screen door in hopes of encouraging our visitor to leave.
To my astonishment, he did leave – only not by the door. Instead, he scooted out the way he came. The slinky little buzzard dipped under the same unsecured patch of screen which accommodated exploratory cat paws, and away he ran, flicking his tail after him. At least now I knew how he'd got in. And I knew why.
'You see,' I explained to Elektra when she returned with now otiose broom, 'he must've got mad when we weren't there to feed him. So he went after the source.'
Elektra snorted. 'He found the Mother Lode, then.' Comprehension dawned. 'He's the one who made the hole in the bag!' I nodded.
Yes, sirree bob, as we say hereabouts, those squirrels are kind of like some of the rest of us – smarter than they look.
