There were two spastic bodies sweating profusely in a 10 by 10 foot room. Arms were flailing, legs twisted. The gross motor movements made Stephen Hawking look agile.
It all started innocently enough.
I was going to the grocery store but decided to check my computer (because I’m neurotic). Most people would check on their smart phone. That would require bending down to fish it out of my purse.
It’s easier to walk to the office and do it on the desktop.
Morgan, our precocious three-year-old cat was there. That’s not unusual but she was staring at our small ottoman (we call it a hassock but it’s really an ottoman) placed so Hazel (our not so precocious 9-year-old cat) can look out the window.
I know that look. It’s the “oh boy we have a live animal in the house that I can play with” look. I have seen it before.
I gingerly moved the ottoman and there was a terrified chipmunk staring up at me.
Let me start with the obvious. There is no exterior door to that room. The windows are never opened so it had to come in the house from somewhere else at some other time. I have no idea how long it had been in the house but we do have four cats who all love a good romp with a chippie. That would limit it’s time to “not too long or it would be dead.”
The chippie doesn’t understand that I am trying to rescue it from the powerful jaws of a feisty cat. It thinks I am going to make sushi out of it.
I did the only thing I could think of. I called for the beloved husband. Not to catch the thing because he is no good at that but it would take two.
Our office is small. All the furniture is built-in. We have very little stuff sitting on the floor (because the room is so damn small!).
We closed the door so that we could start sweating profusely (why do these things happen after I have taken a shower?) and the little bugger couldn’t get out of the room. If he escaped to the rest of the house we were all doomed. There is no way we could get him out from under furniture.
All you have to do is corner it, throw a towel over it and scoop it up. It’s much easier with mice. They are more accommodating. This little guy had two speeds — stopped and Mach 1 (that’s approaching or exceeding the speed of sound).
We spent 20 minutes working on this. At this point the room smelled like a boys’ locker room and I am sure the little guy must have peed. How could he not? I would have if two critters a thousand times bigger than me were chasing me around with a towel.
We finally got him to run into a trash can and put a cover on it. (Keep in mind that he had run into this trash can at least five times but quickly leaped out over our heads to escape.)
He was escorted out of the building with a nice severance package (his life). Last I saw, he was at the chippie bar regaling his friends with stories of his time in the big house and how he fought off a fierce cat and two humongous Godzilla-like creatures who had a towel and a trash can.
Morgan is still hanging around the ottoman. She can’t believe that we ousted her friend.