Our first house sitter saw a chipmunk scooting around just inside the sliding glass doors . He reported to us that he was able to chase it out onto the screened-in porch where he opened the door for it in a gentlemanly fashion, and it exited.
The next chipmunk didn’t fare so well. I opened the door for Wumpus before I realized he was oh- so- gently carrying a chipmunk in his mouth. I yelled “no!” thinking he’d back out, but, no, he ran in and dropped it. It scurried down the hall into the laundry room where I looked for it by moving the dryer in a search and rescue procedure gone awry. We never even knew I'd run him over until he started to smell. (You will find the entire comic-tragic story in the posting of October 15, 2012, "RIP, Little Chippie").
Wumpus probably concluded we weren’t fond of chipmunks in the house, and he advanced (or regressed, take your pick) to moles. Steve and I were on the porch one morning, drinking coffee and reading the paper when Steve jumped. Oh, yes, there was a furry gray fellow trying to disappear into the corner. I blocked one direction while Steve swept him out with a broom. About a month later, he was replaced by another. (Heck, maybe it was the same mole. How would I know?) This one cowered behind the large glass bottle filled with curly willow. Steve wasn’t there this time, and I tried the broom without luck. Wumpus, asleep on the coffee table, showed no awareness whatsoever, until I set him down in front of it. He watched it for a bit. It scurried out, saw Wumpus and froze. Wumpus bent down and carefully touched it with his nose. The mole ran back for cover. It came out again. Wum kissed it again. It dove behind the storage cabinet. Within ten seconds, the cat wondered outside.
Really, Wumpus? REALLY? I dunno. Maybe he catches them with the intention of eating them,but finds he just can’t stand the crunch. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll let him keep one for a pet. He’s not sayin’.
We went away again. I signed onto Facebook, and saw that the house sitter had posted a picture of a dead mouse. I had hopes that Wumpus was getting the hang of things.
My hopes were dashed last week. You see, Wumpus gets us up early in the morning. One of us shlumps out of bed, dumps down cat food and slides the door open leaving it open while we make coffee, retrieve the paper and bring it to the screened-in porch where we sip and read. Let's face it, it’s some time before we come to our full senses. Last week, Steve was balancing a full cup of coffee out to the porch when the corner of his eye saw the tiny blur. Yup, there was another mole, already indoors
Or was it? We knelt on the floor. We looked under the TV. We looked under the couch. We looked under the coffee table. We didn't see it again although minutes later, Wum was facing away from his food bowl and towards the refrigerator. Ye gods, there was no way we were going to retrieve a small Visitor from behind the fridge. Wumpus was the most intent I’ve ever seen him. Perhaps he thought he could stare it to death.
Meanwhile, life doesn’t stop, even for disgusting animals in the kitchen. We left on our various errands and appointments. I got home first. I came in through the garage and saw Mr. Mole carefully sliding down the stairs. I slipped out of my thronged sandals (they're not the easiest to maneuver in quickly), ran into the storage area and grabbed my the empty shoe box. I did a quick-footed fandango to avoid minute paws and slapped the box over it. Trapped!
Now what? I didn’t dare let go of the box for fear it could nudge out from under it. I reached my arm around to the toy shelf and snagged a doll’s china tea set. That would hold the sucker.
I went upstairs to recover. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how to get the mole out from under the box and out the door. I was afraid that if I tried to slide a piece of cardboard underneath, he’d scurry out. If he escaped and ran behind the bookcase, it would be discovery by aroma all over again. In the end I called Animal Control. It was pretty embarrassing, especially when the extraordinarily nice officer put on a heavy glove, slowly raised the box and lifted the cowering rodent out. He put it in a little cardboard cage and took it away to release it in the woods down the street. Catch and release, Wumpus. The idea is to catch something INSIDE and release it OUTSIDE, not the other way ‘round.
Meanwhile, we’re trying to remember to close the door.
Wumpus: he's a lover not an eater