On Christmas, children listen carefully, hoping perhaps to hear the pitter patter of little feet, sounds of reindeer or Santa's elves. For them, such sounds are thrilling. For adults, not so much.
Paul found a guest staying in the sun room of the third floor apartment that he was renovating this summer (but didn't finish before the term started and so has been staying with me). The guest had demolished all the plants and made a complete mess. It really is a struggle to keep this old house from being completely overtaken by nature--during the summer there were instances with birds and bats. And now the squirrel. Paul called me rather panicky. I said I'd be right over. He called again and asked me to bring some nuts. "Mixed? With cashews? Roasted?" I was much more amused than he was.
Paul was using a mop handle and a screen to shield himself from the squirrel. The squirrel was remarkably stupid--preferring to hide in the curtains rather than follow the trail of delicious nuts out the door to freedom. So, Paul would poke the curtain, the squirrel would jump out, Paul would scream, I would trip over something, and the squirrel would run back to its hiding place.
Paul said that he kept thinking of Chevy Chase movies and worried that this whole affair would end with him having a rabid squirrel attached to his face. I called the police. They don't handle this kind of thing.
We left with the door to the backporch open and a trail of nuts leading out. Or leading in, depending on your perspective. Shoot, now there are enough nuts out there on the floor for a party. Welcome, Christmas squirrels.