Sherry Chandler

Cat with critter

Monday, June 2

Am a bit tired this morning because at eleven or so last night Bramble mewed at the window and I let her in, not realizing that she was carrying a small creature in her mouth. She proceeded to play with it, purring very loudly all the time and making the special miaow cats do for their kittens. I lay there in a sweat of horror, hoping the thumping and skittering around would soon be over. But apparently she had not harmed the creature—and she went off to lie down. What to do? I finally got up and put Bramble out, closing the doors into the hall; then I opened the screen door to the porch, hoping the creature would find its way out. (Luckily there were no mosquitoes around in the rain.) Every half hour I turned on the light. Finally I saw by Tamas’ pricked ears that the creature was still there; following his direction, I looked to the right and there it was—incredibly soft, plushy, with large dark eyes, hanging on the lattice back of a straight chair. I think it was a flying squirrel, but I’m still not sure. I got up, took the fireplace broom and gently prodded it, hoping to direct it toward the door. Instead, it flew under my bed, climbed up into the revolving bookcase beside the bed, and lay there on top of the books in a tiny cranny of space. More waiting. Then I got an empty shoe box and tried to prod it gently into that, which succeeded, except that it leapt out before I could get to the door. At long last at two a.m. I saw it scuttle safely out. Whew!

— May Sarton, The House by the Sea (Norton, 1977)

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