Rocky, Is That You?

I have to start this out with a rhetorical question:  since when did my mother’s house turn into a wildlife sanctuary?  You’ve heard me talk about Marie before, and you know I love her, but there are strange doings happening over there that should not affect me.  However, she finds a way to pull me into “her world”: sometimes vicariously and sometimes not.

For instance, I was minding my own business at home one day when my phone rang.  It was Marie.  I knew I shouldn’t have answered and I have caller ID, but I was feeling magnanimous. “Yes?”

“Daughter, we have a situation.”  “We do?”  “Yes.  There’s a squirrel in the house.”   “Really?  Well what am I supposed to do about it?”  Then she uttered the most chilling words I’ve ever heard her say: “Go to the store and get me a gun.”

I know that it’s written in the Bible that children should obey their parents, etc. etc.  But somehow, I just did NOT feel comfortable with the thought of waltzing into Wal-Mart and buying my 70-year-old mother a gun!  “Um, mom, do you think that’s a good idea?”  “Of course I do!  That’s the only way I’m going to get him out of here.  I’ll see you soon.”  Click.

I thought about this for a minute or 2.  On the one hand, I have respect for my mother and she usually has a pretty good head on her shoulders. On the other hand, did I really want her with a loaded weapon target shooting poor Rocky in her house?  Looks like I’d have to think about it on my way to Wal-Mart.

Long story short: I did purchase a gun for her, but it was a just a little pellet pistol that I figured would do less harm to her TV, other furniture and the people living with her.  And fortunately, they did get the squirrel out with minimal muss and fuss.  Thank God!

Now if you think that’s the end of Wild Kingdom in her house, you are WRONG!  I have driven up to her house and seen my brother sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette, with a squirrel sitting at his feet eating a nut!  I’ve been in her kitchen, looked out the window and seen squirrels sitting on the picnic table looking in!   I’ve also heard tapping on her screen door, and it will be a squirrel wanting to come inside to visit!  Aye yi yi, what is the attraction?

But the best story happened about a year ago.  First, let me set it up for you: picture Marie and I sitting in one of my favorite restaurants, with me treating her to lunch (why is it that I’m always the one buying? But I digress).  I had broiled lemon pepper haddock, she had a hot turkey sandwich…anyhoo, we’re almost done eating and then she says, “I have to remember to call Tom to see if his back is better.”  “Oh?  What did Uncle Tom do to his back?”  “I didn’t tell you that he hurt his back at my house?”  “No, what did you do to him?”  “It wasn’t my fault, he just got up from the chair too fast and wrenched it.”  “Why was he getting up so fast?”  And now we get to the actual story:

Apparently my uncle had stopped by on Friday to visit.  He’s my mother’s younger brother and they like to get together and ‘chew the fat’, so to speak.  He is also one of the funniest people I know, so if I ever drive by her house and see his car in the driveway, I usually pull in.  So, he is at my mother’s house and they’re reminiscing about the good old days.  My sister happened to be home too; and she got up to go into the kitchen for some water.

According to my mother, a couple of minutes later she hurried back through the living room and went into her bedroom, shutting the door.  “Robin, are you all right?” Marie called out.  No answer.  “Well that’s strange.  I wonder what happened in the kitchen.”  Within a minute my mother got her answer: a squirrel came out of the hallway and sat in the middle of the living room floor!

Being a dignified, reserved woman, my mother did what any woman would do if she saw a squirrel sitting in the middle of her living room floor that day.  She screamed like a little girl, and screamed for my brother to bring the gun.  Contrary to what you might think: the squirrel did not like the high-pitched sound and so he began running around the room.  In the meantime, my uncle sat there, non-plussed, waiting to see what would happen next.

The sound of the screaming finally roused my brother Keith, whom my oldest daughter has dubbed “the uncle who lives in the attic”.   Mind you, my mother doesn’t have an attic, but again I digress…  Usually unflappable, he came downstairs to see what the commotion was about.  Being the sharpest tool in the shed at that time, he assessed the situation.  “Mom, stop yelling you’re scaring it.  I’ll get something to trap it, and Uncle Tom can open the door so he can get out.”

Sure this sounded like a practical plan, but you have to realize who was enacting the plan.  My mother managed to stop yelling and Keith grabbed a curved-handled walking cane, intending to get that around the squirrel’s neck to help usher him to the door.  But the squirrel had other ideas.  Keith headed towards him with the cane, and the squirrel climbed up the curtains and ran back and forth on the curtain rods.

So now we have my mother yelling again, my uncle trying to restore order, and my brother trying to get the handle of the cane around the squirrel’s neck like he’s really going to be able to get it out of the house.

Then the unthinkable occurred: the squirrel tried to leap to safety, and landed right on top of my mother’s head.  You think she was screaming before: she really let out a holler then!  So the squirrel used her head as a launching pad and then landed on the back of Uncle Tom’s chair.  Being the big, strong man that he was, he jumped up so quick he twisted his back, hindering his plan to escape out the front door!  “Open the door!” Keith shouted, because believe it or not: he had the squirrel by the neck.  No need to tell Uncle Tom twice: he managed to open the front door and Keith tossed the squirrel out.

As I sat in the Peppermill listening to my mother recount this tale, I laughed until I cried.  I laughed so hard the other diners were looking at me and laughing too.  All I could visualize was my poor little mother sitting in her chair with “Rocky” perched atop her head like a jaunty chapeau!  Ah, good times at Marie’s house.  I told her she’d better be careful because one of these times when Rocky comes to visit: he might bring Bullwinkle too!