Squirrel

TW: grief following the death of a loved one

Hazel stood at the foggy window with her coffee and looked out at the old rocker on the porch. This morning, for the first time ever, it was empty. The cabin was silent; nothing was playing on the radio, nobody was whistling along, and nothing was sizzling on the stove. Her heart felt like porcelain—cold, heavy, and fragile. Jack had lived fully and died peacefully. She could take comfort in that. But Hazel hadn’t lived without him in over fifty years. And she couldn’t remember how.

“I want the orange one,” Hazel decided. “He matches the fall leaves.”

“Are you sure, Nan? They say orange cats are kind of wild,” Luna laughed.

“Yes. I like him. What did it say his name was?”

“Uh,” Luna lifted the laminated card taped to his cage and giggled. “Squirrel.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake! Who names a cat something like that?” Hazel bent to look at his friendly eyes and sighed. “You’re coming home with me, Squirrel.”

Squirrel yawned. If only they knew.

It had been almost a month since Poppa’s death. Sometimes, when Luna was in class, his face would appear in her mind, bright and quick, like an ember popping out of the fire. His image brought warm tears to the corners of her eyes and made her smile. But sometimes, it was Nan’s face that she saw. Hers was greyer than it used to be, and it made Luna’s throat ache to think about it. She hoped the cat would help.

“Hey, Nan! How’s Squirrel doing so far?” Luna’s voice sounded uncharacteristically brassy through the phone speaker.

Hazel looked over at the orange loaf of fur under the armchair. “Fine,” she replied, unamused. “He’s so calm. He doesn’t really do anything.” She wasn’t sure what she had expected. She’d never had a cat, after all.

“Maybe he’s nervous. He’s adjusting to a whole new life.”

“Maybe.”

“I bet he’ll perk up.” Luna paused, then added, “This is random, but do you remember that local comedian that Poppa used to listen to on the radio, Benny Maxwell?”

“Oh, yes! I like him!”

“I’m going to take a comedy class from him at school—

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s neat! Good for you, Lu.” Hazel secretly doubted, though, that Benny Maxwell would be able to teach comedy. It seemed like an instinct.

“Do you want to take it with me? Just for fun?”

“What? I’m seventy-six years old! Why would I go back to school just for that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

In his five years, Squirrel had seen lots of houses, but he’d never seen one with so much wood. It was almost like being outside, which made his heart beat a little faster. And not in a good way. He hadn’t known the lady long enough to trust her, but she seemed promising. She smelled like coffee, she always fed him at the same times, and she had never sprayed him with a bottle or shooed him out of the way with a plastic bag. But he still crouched under the green chair most of the time when she was around, just in case she hadn’t shown her true self yet. It had happened before. And he liked green.

Then one morning, Squirrel smelled something that cured his distrust: bacon. Squirrel lived for bacon. And he knew it was well worth leaving the safety of the green chair. Somehow, he found himself on the countertop next to the stove without any memory of how he’d gotten there.

“Oh! Squirrel! What are you doing up there? You almost gave me a heart attack!” Squirrel softly pawed at the lady’s shoulder and meowed. He didn’t know it, but his eyes were as wide and sparkling as the lake. Maybe that explains what happened next. The lady scooped the bacon out of the pan, onto a plate. It was steaming and smelling up the whole house. Squirrel could hardly take it. He pawed more.

“Alright, Squirrel! Hold on.” The lady laughed and shook her head. She tore off a small piece of bacon and blew on it. Then, she gave it to Squirrel. It was gone instantly. He couldn’t believe she had done it. And he decided.

He loved her.

Hazel could hear Benny Maxwell talking in the living room. She came out of the bedroom, and there he was, in the flesh. He was sitting in the green chair, and Squirrel was asleep on his lap. Jack was sitting across from him on the plaid couch that they’d had for years, but it looked new. And Jack looked the way he had when they’d first moved into their house, with his shaggy red hair and lean strength. He was laughing at Benny’s jokes like they were old friends, and something about his laugh made Hazel want to cry. It was so whole.

He waved her over, and she joined the group. For hours, they talked and joked and laughed so hard it hurt. Then, as they were catching their breath one last time, Jack squeezed Hazel’s hand, stared at her, and said,

“This is who we are.”

Then he was gone. Benny was gone. And she woke up in her bed, seventy-six and alone. She decided to sleep on the old, plaid couch instead.

The next day, Hazel was sitting on the couch. She was supposed to be doing Benny Maxwell homework, but her mind kept drifting. She pinched a bit of couch cushion between her thumb and forefinger, and she thought about how much of her life she’d spent there. She could still feel the relief of lying there pregnant when nowhere else in the world was comfortable enough to sleep. She could see Jack there, smiling at the kids as they squealed over their Christmas gifts. And somehow, even now, Jack’s woody smell and rich singing voice seemed to live on in the couch.

Then, it was dark. The power had gone out. She stood up and felt her way to the junk drawer in the kitchen for a flashlight. When she found it, she clicked the button and saw a flash of orange on the counter in front of her. She shrieked in surprise, and Squirrel, shocked by her reaction, threw his ears back and jiggle-tumbled into the open junk drawer. He flailed and kicked in terror, tangling himself in a bundle of pink gift ribbon, then fell to the floor, and bolted, cat-cursing hideously and dragging the plastic spool along the wooden boards behind him.

Squirrel didn’t know what was after him, but it had a death grip (and sharp claws too, by the sound of it). He wasn’t taking chances. He tore through the house without a thought. He was speed. He was chaos. He was instinct. In the background, someone may have been yelling. He wasn’t sure.

Luna showed up only a minute or so after the lights came back on. She had planned to study with Hazel.

The green chair, the plaid couch, and everything else in sight were thoroughly shredded. Tufts of fur and stuffing were still settling into place on every surface, like debris after a tornado. Squirrel looked like a birthday present wrapped by a four-year-old. And Hazel was in hysterics.

“He ruined the couch!” Her voice came out in shaky sobs. “Our family couch... Your Poppa...”

Luna covered her mouth with her hands and bent at the waist. Then, to Hazel’s surprise, she started to laugh. First, she laughed with her breath, then with her belly. Then, she bent deeper, put her hands on her knees, and laughed with her tears.

Hazel knew that laugh. It was Jack’s. She remembered what Jack had said in her dream. And then, wiping her tears with her fingers, Hazel realized that she was laughing too.

“Bwrr,” Squirrel sighed, as Luna unwrapped the last piece of ribbon from his tail and kissed the flat spot between his ears, still chuckling. (He was relieved to be free of the stuff. Once he’d realized it wasn’t deadly, he’d decided it was terribly undignified.)

“Nan,” Luna said after a long, cheerful time. “Poppa would have loved this so much more than the couch.”

And Hazel knew she was right.