The visit to the garden centre had been expensive, but John went home an optimistic man. He had enough to defeat his enemy. Kate looked with amazement at his purchases.
‘All that’ she exclaimed, ‘just to keep one little squirrel away from the bird food!’
‘There’s no such thing as one squirrel; there’s dozens of them.’ John was putting together a contraption designed to protect the bird feeder from unwanted diners. ‘Look, it says it works for racoons, squirrels and rats. In eight languages. It must be good.’
By the end of the day the birds were happily feeding from what looked to Kate like the avian equivalent of a high security prison, and it did seem to be working. The squirrel leapt ineffectually from the ground, swung helplessly from the thinnest branches of the apple tree and failed to master the jump from the shed roof to the feeder. John’s triumph was short lived. The clever little rodent found out that by using the carefully positioned protector as a springboard it could navigate around it and reach its prize. But John was not to be beaten; he would go any lengths to outwit that pesky squirrel.
Kate came to the hospital with pyjamas, toiletries and magazines. ‘They said you’d be in for at least a week. Whatever possessed you to balance a stepladder on top of a pile of bricks and wedge a rake above the branch? You could’ve killed yourself.’
The wiring around his jaw meant that John couldn’t argue. And there wasn’t much point. He knew his efforts to position the bird feeder out of squirrel-reach were unsafe; he thought he’d get away with it. Fortunately Kate had come home soon after the ramshackle structure collapsed. The paramedics who arrived were much too professional to say anything, but John saw the way they looked at the heap of bricks, ladder and rake before shrugging their shoulders. He felt such an idiot.
‘Anyway,’ Kate continued. The squirrel is back and I think it’s a she, with babies. I saw the teats on her tummy.’
John groaned. The squirrel had won.
A nurse came in to check on his broken shoulder. ‘Good news’ she said as she adjusted his leg traction splints. ‘You’re going to be moved to a bed by the window. There’s a nice view from there, you can watch the squirrels.’
About the author
Penny Rogers lives in Dorset in the south of England. She writes mostly short stories, flash fiction and poems and facilitates an informal writing group. She is a regular contributor to CaféLit. When she’s not writing Penny makes jams, pickles and preserves from home grown or foraged produce.
Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)
No comments:
Post a Comment