From: "Marek Lugowski" <marek@moose.cs.indiana.edu>
Subject: squirrels in the ceiling / Frances+Marek (1990)
Organization: Indiana University, Bloomington
Date: Sat, 12 Dec 1992 06:57:07 -0500

"squirrels in the ceiling"
by Frances Schuetz and Marek Lugowski.
Copyright 1990 by Frances Schuetz.
Copyright 1990 by Marek Lugowski.
All Rights Reserved except the right to make copies for personal use.
 
	squirrels in the ceiling
	----------------------------------------------------------------------
	
	a while ago, some flying squirrels nested in the ceiling in my forest
	house.  they scratched around and the babies sometimes fell through
	into the house and i had to chase them around with a rubbermaid bucket
	and kick them outside.  it was a mess.  i wanted them to leave so i
	called the landlord to fix the hole through which they were entering.
	the maintenance people who came in the afternoon said they made sure
	no squirrels remained inside before patching the hole, but when i got
	home at sunset, i heard frantic scratching in the ceiling.  i knew
	that one of the squirrels had been left in there and was now trapped.
	i could see it trying to get out, grasping outside from within with
	his or her articulated little hands on and around the edges of the
	loft floorboard just like a trapped human would, while nibbling
	ferociously at the solid pine in an effort to chew its way out.
	it caught the warm sunlight through the finger-thick crevice in
	the loft floor, or the half-ceiling, a rectangular hole where the
	wall and the flooring did not meet flush and seized on it as a way
	to get out.  as the sun set, i turned on the galley kitchen light,
	thinking this might help it find another passage.
	
	sure enough, in a minute an adult squirrel was running all over the
	house.  it ran swiftly, in spurts, jumping onto bookshelves, pausing
	on the top of my most recent journal publication, watching me from
	there with a hostage-taking eye.  i tried to talk it into leaving
	through the front door that i propped up open for it, rubbermaid in
	hand.  this stand-off went on for a few minutes, until it, all the
	while ignoring the dark outside, swooshed in a giant leap towards my
	warmly lit study, the one place where i did not want it.  in my study,
	various papers littered as they do now the desk and the floor, with
	diskettes all over and a humming workstation with color in motion on
	the screen, a modem, electronics, cables, clothes, furniture, glass,
	pictures, and many small nooks for a squirrel to explore, to wage a
	protracted hide-and-seek.  it made a very intelligent choice of a
	place to keep eluding me, and i grudgingly admired its choice.
	
	resigned to the new unfavorable odds, i closed the study door behind
	me, rubber bucket in hand.  when we made eye-contact again, i
	apologized to the squirrel for the undignified antics about to ensue
	and then launched repeated and unsuccessful attempts at pinning it
        under the inverted bucket.  the squirrel always easily evaded me
        with plenty milliseconds to spare.  i then noticed that it settled
        on running a closed circuit on the study's perimeter, the part
        unobstructed by my huge slab of a desk, a large white scandinavian
	elephant cutting off escape with its vertical slabs of particle
        board.  maybe it did not wish to risk running into a dead end.
	its path traced and retraced a displacing arc, a boomerang laid
	out, as it were, along the two cluttered but open walls.  there it
	would pause roughly halfway to look at me with great attention.
	i got the sinking feeling that what neighborly trust we had
	established over the winter months had been shamefully erased
	in the past ten minutes.
	
	finally, in a great blur, it jumped up clawing at the wooden wall
	paneling and hung awkwardly from near the ceiling's corner, exactly
	underneath the space where it and its kin used to hang out in the
	cold days.  i decided that this was a strategic mistake on its part
	or a deliberate here-catch-me and lost no time closing in.
 
	the squirrel would have been problematic to pin down in the corner,
	but it lurched across, along the open wall, clawing desperately.
	this improbable and taxing path slowed it down to a crawl and i easily
	yet gingerly cupped it with the rubbermaid.  then, while sliding the
	bucket along the wall, keeping flush contact, i barely reached the
	latest playboy, about the only suitable tool in the range of my
	contorted position, then gently worked it underneath the opening of
	the bucket sliding it edgewise, in and out, making sure I was
	not pinching any flesh, covergirl facing the squirrel, underneath the
	bucket, cupping the bucket with its captive now motionless in it.
	
	when i got outside onto the wooden steps, the porch-like landing, i
	put the bucket playboy-down and closed the door behind me, standing
	outside, then slowly lifted the rubbermaid.  oddly, the squirrel
	remained put, beautifully brown and silver-haired, brown-glisten-eyed
	right on top of the matching brunette, you know, the one catching
	the o falling out of playb y, its nose next to her chin, facing
	away from me, breathing rapidly, which I have come to regard as
	normal breathing for squirrels, be it evicted in rubbermaid buckets
	or not, not reacting to my presence apparently.  only with some
	reluctance did it lightly hop down the stairs after a minute or so.
	it then turned around and sat there, motionless, watching me, again,
	with great attention.  again, i apologized for my small-heartedness
	and uncivil behavior and especially for calling the landlord which
	of course led to all this but the squirrel remained impassive.
	complete darkness having set in, i went back in, relieved that i
	got it out alive and in fact out at all, already regretting the
	silence in the ceiling -- only after it fluidly jumped up the
	nearest tree.
	
	
	                    Frances Schuetz / Marek Lugowski
			    Spring months 1990
	                    Bloomington, Indiana / Lake Monroe, Indiana
 


[publication contact: M. Lugowski, r.r. 1, box 275e, Nashville, Indiana 47448]
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