No Good Deed

The squirrel, like Jeffrey yesterday, did not know we were coming.

He was sitting on the patio picking at the last of the peanuts Jeffrey had tossed out that morning. He's a young thing, small and a bit wiry with a tail that hasn't quite bushed out yet and often gets chased away by the bigger squirrels and the bluejays who, judging by the cacophony of their calls, don't seem to like anyone, big or small. But Jeffrey, good-natured as he is, looks after him and always puts peanuts and corn out after the others have departed in the hopes of fattening him up before Fall arrives.

Duncan, who has learned that Jeffrey is the best sort of fellow (and by that I mean the kind of fellow who always has a store of treats on-hand), hurried ahead of me, darting into the low shrubs around Jeffrey's patio and waited for his newest best friend (read: treat dispenser) to appear. I paused a moment and waited but when Jeffrey didn't appear I stepped away and whistled for Roo to come along, which he didn't. He'd spotted the squirrel sitting on the rail and was waiting for it to make a move.

When it finally did, complete and utter pandemonium broke out. The squirrel jumped off the rail and ran back and forth across the patio just out of Duncan's reach. Dunc followed along, darting this way and that, refusing to to let the poor thing get by. So finally it did the only thing it could think of: it ran right through Jeffrey's open door and into the apartment.

Jeffrey, who had been sitting at his desk, jumped up and ran into the living room as the squirrel darted over his bare foot, leapt over the two cats and onto the kitchen counter where it knocked over a bowl, sent a jar of peanuts shattering to the floor, climbed atop the fridge where it knocked off a bag of cat food, then jumped down onto Jeffrey's desk. Papers flew, pens scattered, speakers were tipped over, chaos ensued. It finally settled on the window sill where it began to scratch helplessly against the glass, jumping up into the blinds, pulling them off the runner, then starting all over again. Duncan hurried to the window, barking and pawing to get in as the squirrel, inches away on the other side of the glass, tried to get out.

There was nothing I could do but watch (and yes, take a picture). I grabbed Duncan, put him on his leash and pulled him away while Jeffrey, laughing like a stoned Santa, tried to coax the squirrel out from behind his desk with a broom. The squirrel decided on one last course of action, which involved getting caught in all the computer wires and pulling them loose, then scampered back into the living room, out the door and up the closest tree where it immediately began screaming all sorts of unrepeatable obscenities at me. 

Jeffrey finally appeared, still laughing, out of breath and his face flushed red.

"That," he said, "was the best thing I've ever seen! You can't make this up!"

He's correct. Duncan's life writes itself.