01-19-03 @ 6:04 am EST

"There is SOMETHING over by that stairway and I don't know WHAT it is," I told Ma last night, matter of factly. I kept hearing something moving around over there and it was beginning to bug me. I went over and turned on the light and gently moved the blanket covering the upstairs door aside, peering down at the floor next to the old empty bird food bag. And GAAAHHHH! It was BACK!

That FLYING SQUIRREL again!

It just sat there on the floor staring up at me with huge eyes, probably praying that if it were still enough, I wouldn't notice. I gave a short scream when it moved and startled me, and let the blanket fall back into place. Then I pulled it aside again--the squirrel was still there. I let the blanket fall back into place and entered the living room, wringing my hands.

"Ma, it's that flying squirrel again."

"I KNEW it," she groused. "Just let the cat get him!"

"Coz is sleeping. I'm not going to let him kill the squirrel! I want DAD to get him!"

"Dad won't get him!"

I went back to the door...checked behind the blanket...yep, it was still there. Went through the kitchen toward the utility room, since Dad was out there.

"I don't have any gloves...plus he'd probably run up my arm and give me rabies!"

Dad was coming out of the bathroom and whistling and things, so I called out, "Dad? Um...could you get your gloves? That flying squirrel is back...and he's sitting on the floor staring at me."

"Really?" He sounded surprised. I guess perhaps he thought the little booger would have been frightened enough by its last visit here. It DID fly into the wall, and everything. He got his gloves and went into the living room while I watched.

"He's behind the blanket, near the door...he might be gone by now, though."

Dad disappeared from view and I followed him, seeing him lift the blanket. "Oh...yeah," he said, so I knew it was still there. It, he, whatever, scurried under the old bird food bin, and Dad had to move a piece of plywood to block its path should it try to run into the living room. I stood nearby and waited.

"Here he comes," Ma called out, just as The Little Guy (her pet name for Coz) entered the living room with a puzzled look on his face. Damn it, he'd just been in a coma high atop a shelf in the utility room moments before. How does he always know when to show up?

"STAY BACK!" I yelled. "I don't want you eating this squirrel!"

Dad lifted the food bin and there was the squirrel. It leapt atop the plywood--a lot of good THAT did!--and latched onto the back of the chair. Dad grabbed at it. "Do you have him?" I asked, but it squirted out of his hands, under the chair, and up the seat again under Ma's blanket. Then it was off the chair and under the footstool. I was calling out its moves the whole time like some mad sportscaster. It was like a furry streak of lightning!

It bolted out from under the footstool into the middle of the floor, then over to the shelter of my tapes. Coz noticed it now and puffed up, then went after it. It zipped out and he followed it under the end table beside the couch--he crashed into the plywood--and scurried around some behind everything, making an awful racket.

"I don't want him to eat the squirrel!!" I yelled.

"I just want him to SUBDUE it!" Dad returned.

Coz finally snatched onto the thing and carried it out, squeaking, from under the end table, dropping it on the floor where it lay for approximately one second with its legs in the air, a stunned look on its face. Then it was up on its feet again, but Dad managed to catch it. Back to the door it went, and back outside into the cold. The door was closed and the little flying vermin was gone once more.

Coz was appropriately showered with hugs and praise for his pivotal role in the capture. He commenced guarding the door for the next hour or so in case the beast should return, but every so often he paced back through the living room, just to let us know that we were safe with HIM around.

Good poopy-head doofbag.