Squeak!

One spring afternoon, my brother and I made our way home after school. I fished the house key out of the clothespin basket on the deck. While my parents trusted me to stay home and watch my brother until our parents came home from work, I was apparently too young to carry my own key.

I unlocked the door, and immediately heard a high-pitched squeak! I thought it was Maggie, so I went looking for her. She was fast asleep on the couch. As I pet her, I heard it again, coming from another part of the house. Squeak!

They grew louder as I made my way upstairs, until I found myself standing under the attic door in the hallway. Squeak, squeak! We had those ladder stairs that folded down from the ceiling, and I wasn't allowed to open them. It didn't matter anyway; I was too short to reach the handle.

Squeak, squeak, squeak!

By that time, I heard Mom's car pull into the driveway. I ran downstairs and outside to meet her.

"Mom! Mom! There's a weird squeaky noise coming from the attic!" I even imitated it for her. "Squeak, squeak!"

I practically dragged her upstairs. We both stood in the hallway, staring up at the attic door. Nothing. Not a peep.

"I have to make dinner, Andrea. Go start your homework," she said as she headed back downstairs. Her annoyance was not lost on me.

Was I crazy? Did I imagine these sounds? I was so confused and frustrated.

I trudged down the stairs to get my books when I heard it again. SQUEAK!

"MOM!"

She came back upstairs, and this time the squeaks didn't stop.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you. Stay here."

She pulled down the stairs, brushing away the chunks of fluffy pink insulation that always came down with them, and climbed up. I heard her footsteps as she walked around for what felt like an eternity.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

I could barely contain myself. "What is it?" I hoped it was a kitten. Maggie, who had come to investigate, glared at me, like she knew what I was thinking.

"It's a baby squirrel! Its mom must've gotten in through one of the vents."

"I'll name him Squeak. Can we keep him?" I asked, naturally. Who wouldn't want a pet squirrel?

"No. We'll wait and see if the mom comes back." Mom put together a shoe box bed full of washcloths and removed our guest from the insulation of our unfinished attic. It was a move I didn't understand at the time; that insulation looked pretty darn comfortable to me, even though I wasn't allowed to touch it.

I really wanted to go up in the attic to meet him, but Mom wouldn't let me. Even though I couldn't see Squeak, I felt responsible for him and made sure to keep my parents on top of his care.

I'm not sure how long we waited, but Mama Squirrel never came back. Squeak's squeaks grew quieter, and less frequent.

Squeak... squeak.

Squeak was weak. One day, Mom brought Squeaks and his bed down from the attic. It was my first time seeing him. He was so small, not more than a few inches long, and so cute. His eyes were still closed, and his tail wasn't fluffy yet. I pleaded with Mom to let me keep him. He needed me!

Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

Against my wishes and despite my tears, we piled into the car and drove to a building in the woods.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"A hospital for wild animals. They will help Squeak get better. Then, when he's old enough, they'll release him back into the forest."

"Will we ever see him again?"

"Probably not. But he'll be OK. You made sure we took good care of him, now it's the doctors' turn."

I was sad, but I knew it was the best thing to do.

We came home, and Dad was up in the attic, resealing the vents. We never got another Squeak.

Since then, whenever I see a squirrel, I think of Squeak. I wonder how he turned out. I'll never know for sure, but I like to think he found a nice squirrel wife, settled down in a big oak tree, and had a bunch of squirrel babies.

Photo credit: BetterPhoto.com