I just came from a weekend at my parents’ home in Leisure Village. I find it a nice haven, a place with people who love me unconditionally who just happen to have central air conditioning. A winning combo in this humidity.
So shortly after I arrive — with my siblings, their spouses and children in the house — I inquire about the squirrel issue my brother mentioned in passing on the phone. “How is it possible our mother hasn’t told you one squirrel story yet? Nan, it’s easy to see where you get your pathological fear of mice.”
And so it is.
As it happens, my parents’ home has wooden posts holding up the roof over their main entrance walkway. If you look out the living room window, you can see a gaping hole at the top of the post. Apparently, a very strong-willed squirrel has decided it’s a great place to house her babies until they’re ready to enter the world. A moody little critter, she can often be found hanging off the top of the post. In the meantime, my mother is afraid to enter her home via the front door.
So she called the maintenance folks of the retirement community. They informed her that if they remove the squirrel babies now and the mother comes back and finds them missing, she will terrorize the place like nothing you can believe. Tear it up. The works. Welcome to Leisure Village.
Adding insult to injury, my brother comes in last night and mentions the bird taking up residence in another post. “This place is like Wild Kingdom,” he says. We laugh hard at this. Even my mother.
Methinks she will be coming and going through the garage for a very long time.