December 17, 2018

The Poor Little Squirrel

That poor little squirrel, how did it get here amongst all this noise metal? Wandering lost and terrified through a land of looming monuments. It’s black eyes longing and big bushy tale fluffing around like a mad womble. It probably took the bus the little fare dodger. Squirrels can’t get oyster cards so it must have scurried its way through the legs of shuffling commuters and found refuge in a business man’s jacket or a giant handbag.

Why it got on the bus is another question entirely. Was it being chased by salivating dogs with massive fangs or did it really intend to travel to one of the bus’ destinations?

Could be the squirrel had other intentions, an ulterior motive known only to woodland creatures, communicated in code to other squirrels in the land.

I could ponder for hours but had bigger fish to fry so cast my mind back to the job interview I was about to attend.

That was when the squirrel spoke to me.

“Where, are, you, from?” it asked in an Irish accent.

“Nottingham”, I replied.

It stood in silence for a bit, fiddled with its little paws and brushed its face.

“What’s your story?” I asked.

“I’m a little lost squirrel stranded in the city, looking for my mum, please can you help me?”

I took the squirrel in my top pocket where it nestled comfortably during my job interview, shuffling only on occasion where it was noticed by the interviewer. I told her I had a muscle spasm in my chest and not a squirrel in my top pocket which she seemed to believe.

After the interview I was taken aside by the lady.

“Look,” she said. “I know what’s going on here. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I don’t understand,” I replied.

“You’re returning that little squirrel to its mother.”

“What squirrel?” I replied, not realising that the little squirrel in my pocket was poking it’s head out and looking direct and longingly into the eyes of the interviewer.

“I know,” she said. “Because I am it’s mother.”

“But that’s impossible,” I replied. “You’re a woman.

“No,” she replied. “Not really. I am a giant squirrel in disguise as a woman. I have come here specifically in this body to collect my baby from you and return it him to the homeland.”

“Oh,” I replied, then reached into my pocket and withdrew the squirrel and cupped comfortably as a fluff ball in my palm.

“I thank you greatly for what you have done,” she said.

Then, just as she was about to take the squirrel off me, a giant Doberman with glistening teeth leapt at us like a monster truck up a ramp. With eyes maddened with hunger it opened its mouth which was suddenly inches away from the little squirrel, but luckily my protective instincts took over and I punched the Doberman right in the head, sending it crashing to the floor with a wet doggy thud.

“Thank you,” said the interviewer. “You saved my baby’s life.”

“It’s ok, I replied, I know this dog. He had it coming.”

“You are always welcome in the land of squirrels,” she replied.

And with that I thanked her again for her time as well then left with my head held high and my own massive squirrel tail swinging happily behind.

 

 

2 Comments on The Poor Little Squirrel

  1. Cute little story Daniel, only where did the Doberman come from? That’s just a bit too sudden, no flicker in the corner of your eye, no suspicion that you were followed… I feel something is needed to carry the tale. But I enjoyed it nonetheless, especially the hero’s own surprise twist in his tail!

  2. Thank you! I have no idea where that Doberman came from. Some moment of panic when I realised I needed an ending.

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