FICTION

Revenge of the Squirrel

Excerpt from a soon-to-be unfinished novel

The mind of a squirrel is an inscrutable one.

A look into those beady eyes is enough to know they are thinking about something. The only question is what? However, it is possible to gain insight by observing reactions to various stimuli. For example, what exactly goes through the animal’s mind as it sees a large Homo sapiens bearing down at full speed, shouting obscenities, and waving its arms?

Said primate didn’t really care. All I know for sure is it scares the hell out of them. That’s why I do it.

The gray thief pilfering sunflower seeds from the bird feeder was caught off guard, and in that moment of panic its back feet lost their grip. The squirrel frantically tried to regain its balance, twisting, tail lashing, clinging to the ever more rapidly spinning feeder, a furry gray tornado whirling in space before losing its hold completely and falling to the ground in a heap. As it scampered away, I was laughing so hard I could barely see. I shook my fist at the departing rodent.

“That’ll show you, Fuzzy!”

Then my right foot shot out from under me. The process of falling seemed oddly slow, unfolding like a lazy summer afternoon. This gave me plenty of time to wonder about karma. In particular, whether I looked as funny to the squirrel as it had to me.

The wondering stopped when my head hit something very hard. Twilight fell as my startled brain checked out to compose itself.

It is believed that under certain circumstances, blunt force trauma to the head results in sudden movement of the brain inside the skull, resulting in microscopic shearing of nerve fibers. This is referred to as a concussion. Short-term effects can include headache, dizziness, blurred vision, and disorientation.

I blinked very carefully. This was partly to clear my vision and partly a matter of pride. After all, it might reflect poorly on my manhood if I didn’t try to move something. Applications had been taken, volunteers screened, references checked. I’d selected my eyelids on the grounds they were the only part that didn’t hurt.

However, the light levels didn’t change, so presumably it hadn’t worked. Given the way my head felt it was probably for the best.

We’re sorry. Access to the Gray Room is limited at this time…

I blinked very carefully. This was partly to clear my vision and partly a matter of pride. After all, it might reflect poorly on my manhood if I didn’t try to move something. I’d selected my eyelids on the grounds they were the only part that didn’t hurt.

That responsibility out of the way, I set to the task of working out what had happened. From the hard, cool feeling under my head, I concluded I was lying on one of the stepping stones dotting my yard. They had been placed by a previous owner, apparently at random, and I’d often wondered what they were for. Perhaps this was it.

… you may experience significant delays or be disconnected unexpectedly.

I blinked very carefully. This was partly to clear my vision and partly a matter of pride. After all, it might reflect poorly on my manhood if I didn’t try to move something. Applications had been taken, volunteers screened, references checked. I’d selected my eyelids on the grounds they were the only part that didn’t hurt.

That responsibility out of the way, I set to the task of working out what had happened. From the hard, cool feeling under my head, I concluded I was lying on one of the stepping stones dotting my yard. They had been placed by a previous owner, apparently at random, and I’d often wondered what they were for. Perhaps this was it.

The first thought that managed to congeal was it was time to dig the goddamn rocks out of the ground. This was followed by feeling like an idiot. The only saving grace was the neighbors hadn’t been watching.

Or at least I hoped they hadn’t. Otherwise, I’d both made a fool of myself and shared a fence with people who would watch you knock yourself unconscious and not do anything to help.

“Nick, Ian has gone and hit his head on a rock!”

“It serves him right, Michelle. The man’s a menace. He lets dandelions grow in his yard!”

Gazing skyward, I realized that a portion of the heavens had gone dark, and a face was looking down upon me from above. If I were dying it might be the face of God, but this was not yet my time. Instead, the odd-colored sky was merely the stained pine bottom of a birdfeeder — “Red Cedar Tone #27A” — and the face was a little, gray, furry one with a notched ear. Divine it might not be, but the owner of the face was in a prayerful position and industriously chewing sunflower seeds. Adding insult to injury, the creature was throwing the shells down on me in a light sprinkling of black ovals. I glared squirrelward.

“You’re just lucky I don’t want to stand up right now, Fuzzy,” I said quietly, trying not to jolt my aching head. The chewing stopped, and the beast stared down intently. “Now beat it.”

This was too much for the squirrel. It sprang off the feeder onto the ground and ran up the nearest tree, disappearing in an instant. My first thought was the heathen is vanquished! The second was that seeing this episode as a victory was a bad sign about my state of mind. I rolled over and climbed slowly to my feet. Clearly I was either taking the whole thing way too seriously or would need more medical attention than just aspirin.

With my luck, it was probably both.

John Werth is a Medium Top Writer in Humor and Satire. He’s not only a birdwatcher, he plays clarinet, enjoys Doctor Who, and calls his home “Casa del Nerd.”

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