This work is supported by the generous backers who adore my cat stories at Patreon.com/amberunmasked and they also get first access to what’s happening with my books and projects.
Where We Left Off:
Oliver and Gus needed the local rabbits identified and cataloged in a database. While I didn’t get the time to make a database, I did pool all of our resources to create a dossier on three of our frequent visitors with additional notes on others.
George Washington Slept Here:
When Gus and Oliver are at the Big Rock, there’s prime opportunity for all of us to have stakeouts on suspiciously behaving creatures and enjoy getting to know all of the furry or feathered friends, especially if they can be turned into informants. Other cats, who are not detectives, call this CatTV.
One hot day, Oliver chose to stay at the residence and observe from the shady comforts of his suite. While he watched all of the activities from the patio to Gnome Grove, Gus and I went to inspect the progress on The Grumpy Old Man’s latest project: excavating part of Bunny Hollow, Garter Snake Ridge, and the parking area in order to make a bigger parking space and build a new rock wall.
Gus stayed at the base level where the parking lot and junkyard are. I managed to walk over the uprooted tangles of plants, mounds of dirt, and over the deep holes to get to slightly higher ground. It wasn’t graceful the first couple of times I tried it. I asked The Grumpy Old Man for stairs since everything had been torn up and it was the perfect opportunity to put in some natural hardscape stones in such a way that they could be used as steps.
He told me to climb up what’s there or go around.
On the narrow trail, I noticed someone hopping over the grass coming towards me. The grass was ankle high on me so small critters could barely be seen through it. This was nine days after my eye surgery. I was still having difficulty seeing and still wearing the free sunglasses from the surgeon’s office. I was more sensitive to light than usual. Basically, I would make a terrible eyewitness. What the heck was hopping over the grass like it was a Ninja Warrior course?
Gus couldn’t see it from where he was. He used his SuperSmeller to stay busy gathering data about the creatures who come at night that we never see! It was definitely an important part of his job, but I needed his eyes and ears and every other sense at that moment because I was kind of useless. I hooked the bulk-ordered sunglasses into my shirt collar so I could use the camera to zoom in on the creature as it approached. It made the blurry shapes larger, but I still couldn’t tell how to focus. I also wasn’t supposed to remove the sunglasses when outside, but it was 6:08AM and the sun hadn’t reached above the trees yet.
It looked like the critter was carrying something big in its mouth. Based on the size of the body, I narrowed it down to a chipmunk or squirrel. I thought I saw a long tail that ruled out baby bunny. The ground was wet and I could slip into a hole at any second. I snapped photos knowing they might not be able to tell us much.
The furry thing got close to me then turned to the embankment. There were a few of the old stones still in place along with some black flexible tubes and white PVC pipes next to the metal frame of what was an antique riding mower, I think. There was never an engine in it, but it was fun to “drive” it down the hill with no brakes and trying not to crash into any parked or moving cars.
Bypassing that childhood memory as quickly as my little grey cells could, I saw Gus in my periphery and the subject critter trying to carry its goods down the slippery hillside of junk.
I was not the one to fall that day.
“It’s a squirrel!” Gus yelled to me.
I could see that all of the stuff it once carried flew from its mouth. The squirrel landed on its feet, but the momentum was too great. It was propelled forward landing on the antique mower thing that was already tipped over. The squirrel was like a furry avalanche by then. It landed onto the ground and sprang up a cinder block stack. I knew that it had lost its treasure. Whatever it was carrying was clearly too important to leave behind. Searching this way and that in a panic, the squirrel jumped around while twisting side to side until it landed on some wood planks.
It found its loot scattered next to the planks which were unfortunately on top of some chicken wire.
“No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no,” she cried.
Gus and I inched closer from our opposing vantage points. I didn’t want to distress the squirrel any further.
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
“My materials!” she lamented though not specifically to us—more to herself. “I need to find them! I need all of them! How could this happen? I always have to do everything alone. Now look.”
She dug through the wires with her arms and the lower half of her body seemed to be doing a dance that could give her the best angles for finding her stuff.
She continued her frenzied muttering. “I can do it. I have to do it. I have to get every last piece. Then I’ll build it and it will be perfect. I’ll do it. I’ll get it done. That’s right. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
“Sounds like everything will be fine,” Gus said.
“Guster! You can tell she’s not fine. Get her name and see what’s going on with her.” I turned around and kept having to step on branches and through piles of roots. All I wanted to do was make my way back to the road so I could get around to that quicksand entrapment that will be a parking space someday. My only goal was not to break my camera if and when I fell.
I had to go away from the commotion in order to loop back around at the parking lot level. By the time I did, I saw that the little red squirrel had her mouth full again with what appeared to be dried grass and pieces of other dead flora.
“Excuse me? What’s your name?” I said.
“Ah-mee-mwah-fah-fon.”
Right. Her mouth was too full to answer questions.
Gus followed her as she hopped up, around, and through a completely different pile of junk with wild flowers sprouting through it. Aww, that makes it…better.
“She went through this gap under the bay door,” Gus said. “Let me inside. I’ll track her down and get answers.”
As we walked to the door, I reminded Gus that she was not a suspect and he should approach his inquiry with less hostility. I bent down to unhook his leash from his harness so he could navigate through the hoarding nightmare inside that building. I looked around too, but I could not see nor hear any indication that the little red squirrel was even in there. We always hear scratching and scurrying, but that moment? Nothing.
I told Gus his job was to keep looking and to courteously get information from the squirrel. I went out the back door to make the rest of the snack distributions and peanut payments in order to keep the peace between the Bird gangs and the Chipmunk Mafia.
The Briefing:
Gus exited the back door and caught up with me. He got annoyed when I reattached his leash, as usual. He carries on like it’s made of fire. I hooked the empty snack can to my belt. I tucked the camera into its bag. I already had the sunglasses back on my face and my parasol open. Gus stood on the hay wagon’s metal storage trunk and I could see he was making a move to jump down and sneak underneather and out of my reach. I held his leash and collapsed the parasol, tucking it under my arm. I picked him up and balanced him (whining), my camera bag, and everything else like a good pack mule.
Inside, we had to go through our routine. Drop Gus onto the floor or a table. Put the camera and parasol down. Try not to trip as he circles my ankles like that scene on Hoth when the Rebel pilots use their snow-speeder harpoons and tow cables to take down the AT-AT Imperial Walkers. Remove his harness, leash, and collar of the day. Put the snack can on top of the storage containers. Remove my boots. Hang up my hat and adventure bag. And finally, put my sunglasses in the bowl with the keys.
Oliver came to greet me and rub on my ankles. Another potential to trip avoided. If Gus’ plate is empty, I prepare his breakfast. I begin downloading the photos from the camera to my phone. Only then, can I fix my coffee and wrap two McVities digestive biscuits in a paper tower so that I can head upstairs.
“We have something to report,” I said to Ollie. He walked between the catnip plant and the extra large litter box made from a long storage container. I silently hoped he was not heading into the litter. He didn’t, thankfully.
Ollie laid down with his face near the plant. Gus headed straight for the water fountain. I took the seat at The Butler’s desk which serves as one of my work spaces.
“Gus, when you’re done, fill us in on what you found out,” I said. Ahhh, dark roast coffee blended with medium roasted decaf and cinnamon.
According to Guster, the little red squirrel’s name is Tamia Richardson. She’s a construction engineer specializing in building nests and houses for critters using sustainable materials. Her services are high in demand. She had a habit of putting commissioned jobs before her own need to build proper housing in a safe place for her family.
Gus relayed her message. “She said that the whole entire neighborhood is falling to pieces. She doesn’t feel safe. Some of the buildings have had upgrades, but not all.”
“Why would a squirrel need to worry about our buildings?” I asked.
Gus explained that the squirrels, the birds, and the other creatures who have traditionally used trees for their homes don’t feel safe because the trees keep blowing down or get chopped down. Too many of the trees are dead and not strong for making good nests. If there aren’t trees available, some of these creatures break into humans’ buildings and squat in the attics or walls.
I shared the only knowledge I had on squatting in the 21st century. “It’s called phrogging. I can’t believe CrimeCon hasn’t held panels on this yet. I saw it in a movie, but there are real cases. The first time I saw it on TV goes way back before it was called that. An episode of—”
“Murder, She Wrote,” the boys said in unison.
“Well, Smarty Pantses, it sounds like we should be focused on the issues outside the walls rather than inside them, for now,” I said.
Gus finished telling us what he could figure out from Tamia Richardson’s run-on sentences. As a renowned construction engineer for wildlife, Tami is as concerned for the human-made infrastructure as she is for the natural world. She said that a lot of animals use the man-made structures as their homes: bridges, tunnels, subways, bell towers, chimneys, buoys, and utility poles. And those things seem to be falling apart all over the place or in dangerous pathways of storms and flooding.
Case Findings:
After meeting Tamia Richardson, the little red squirrel on a mission, the Winchester-Nabu Detective Agency accepted her arguments that building a nest inside the hangar would be a better place for her family than risking building it in one of the trees since so many have fallen and others are dying. There are no plans to evict her. We support her efforts if she can cooperatively build shelter for other animals outside. Technically, as long as the Supreme Court of Squirrels doesn’t find any fault in Tamia’s plans, the cats and I will try to keep it a secret from The Grumpy Old Man.
Case Status: Closed
Four days after releasing this case to subscribers, we had a storm to took out a huge tree and grazed Fort Winchester somehow leaving it in tact (some roof damage) and knocking off one trailcam!
