If there is a song in the eyes of every child, there should at least be a floor cleaner commercial jingle in the eyes of every squirrel. Some of those bastards are *crazy*.
Last night I’m getting ready to mosey down to Antonio’s for a slice, and I hear what sounds like a crying child. Well, not precisely a crying child, but more like a crying, retarded child with severe asthma. Curious if I was soon-to-be a key player in the birth of a new urban legend, I gave a little pause and tried to follow the noise. Eventually following it up to the roof of my three-story Victorian apartment home, I saw a rather haggard gray squirrel hanging by a single paw on the guttering, apparently crying for help. Now, I had no object long enough to reach the squirrel and an insufficient background in rodent biology to effectively communicate to the creature, so there was little I could do to help my little woodland friend out of his jam. After a few moments of watching, I was soon joined by a few neighbors who had also been searching for the source of the sound.
After a bit of careful analysis, it was determined that we should get some sort of net to safely catch the squirrel and stand on top of an SUV and poke the gutter with a stick until it fell, and then promptly set it free. There were two small catches in this ingenious plan however: 1) We had no SUV and 2) we had no net.
Undaunted, we settled for a couple of Sarah’s throw pillows and Eddie’s new Volkswagen Beetle. Being the tallest of the group now numbering eight, we determined that the stick detail was best left to me and the pillow duty to someone with health insurance that included rabies shots. Carefully resting my weight on the frame of Ed’s Beetle and clamoring about a bit with the stick, I finally get in a position to push the squirrel off the ledge.
At precisely that point, the squirrel realizes what the fuck we’re doing and climbs back up on the roof, hops on a nearby power line, and leaves the eight of us idiots in the dust.
What was more strange – the squirrel hanging and crying like a human baby or a group of eight adults coordinating such an unsophisticated rescue operation – remains a mystery.