A couple of weeks ago when we were out of town I checked in with our pet sitter, Jen. It was about two days before we were due home I think. I wanted to see how Mr. G. was doing. Had he been any more social this time I hoped?
She wrote back and said that Mr. G was still having nothing to do with her, which bummed me out, but then she also wrote: “But the craziest thing happened. When I came today, a chipmunk ran in. I chased him around, but couldn’t get him so I left the doors open while I fed G and stuff. I hope he got out.”
A message like that might upset some people. Not me. I cracked up because what was it with our house lately?
About a month ago we kept getting birds in our garage. Just out of the blue. I think one may have gotten stuck in there when Wayne had the garage door open when he went to mow the lawn, but the other one was smaller and the door had never been raised. He likely slipped in through a crack we have and couldn’t find his way out until I helped him.
And we’ve had a bird fly in the house a time or two too. Once when Wayne was on a Zoom work call, which was a riot.
And we’ve had our fair share of chipmunks in the house during the Tigger years. Same with baby bunnies, a couple of which Mr. G has dragged in. But that’s just it. Those critters hadn’t come in on purpose. They’d been carried in against their will. We’d never had a chipmunk invite itself in. That was something new. I sort of wish I’d been there to see it.
Well, I didn’t think much more about it. In fact, it pretty much slipped my mind until we came back home. I noticed fur that looked almost like feathers in one of the vents in our sunroom. Uh oh. Had Mr. G eaten the chipmunk after all?
I showed Wayne who agreed it looked like chipmunk fur. But there was no blood or body bits anywhere. Wayne cleaned up the vent and that was that.
The second night we were home I heard weird noises downstairs. G was in bed next to me. I couldn’t decide if it was the ice maker or what. I could not place the noises. But I didn’t get up to investigate. It didn’t sound like an intruder or anything. If the refrigerator was malfunctioning, I decided I’d deal with it later. I was too tired right then.
Then the night before we were to leave again, I heard a huge crash downstairs. G was not with me this time. I called to him but he never came upstairs. Worried and wondering what he might’ve knocked over, I hoped he wasn’t hurt. I went downstairs and found him sound asleep on the back of the couch.
But what had made the crashing noise? I couldn’t figure it out.
Nor could I figure out why Mr. G. was suddenly leaving pieces of his dry food in his water bowl and scattered around the floor. I worried he’d developed a tooth problem like both Mr. Meow and Tabby had during their lives. It wasn’t uncommon with them to find kibble floating in their water.
Now I had a new worry. How was I going to get Mr. G to the vet?
We’ve never had a cat who enjoyed going, but at least all the others let me pick them up. G doesn’t. And he doesn’t like other people at all. He’s the least social, biggest scaredy-cat cat we’ve ever had. I’ve been dreading the day he needs a vet visit and have been putting it off. But if his teeth were bothering him, I knew my days of procrastination were over.
But it would have to wait until after Thanksgiving. He was still able to eat and didn’t seem in distress. I’d figure it out when I got back.
Then the day we were leaving, I went to mop the sunroom floor and found some more fur in the vent. But this time it was also in another vent. It had only been in the one before. Was the chipmunk still in the house?
But that wasn’t all that was weird. G was intent on watching something right outside the door between our living room and sunroom. He never watches me mop. I happened to catch a commotion out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t see anything except a blur of something and G running to the vent where I’d spotted the initial batch of fur.
Just in case the blur had been the chippy, I opened the sunroom door that led to the deck and went about finishing my cleaning. Which is how I found fur in another vent in the living room when I vacuumed in there.
By this point, I pretty much realized the chipmunk had never left and was likely the cause for the late-night noises and the scattered food.
After I finished my chores, I went to tackle some work in my office before it was time to head to the airport. A couple of hours later there was a huge commotion in the kitchen. I heard a thunder of feet running across the floor, some thuds, then the unmistakable squeak of a chipmunk.
I ran out to see G looking guilty in the living room like he was in trouble for chasing the intruder, but there was no sign of the little varmint.
So I opened the doors from both the kitchen and sunroom that led to the deck outside and hoped the little guy would find his way out. Otherwise, he was going to spend another 4 nights in our house with the cat because we were leaving that night.
I had no idea if he’d left or not. I simply prayed he had as I closed the doors a little while later.
Well, when we got home Saturday night, there was a smidge more hair in the sunroom vent again. Holy cow. The chipmunk was still in the house?
However, at that point, Wayne believed we’d eventually find a body. No way could a chipmunk survive in our house for almost two weeks, almost one of which he’d been cooped up alone with the cat.
But sure enough, he had.
Yesterday afternoon Wayne went out to check the boat. I stayed behind to catch up on paperwork and such. As I was paying bills in the living room, I heard scuttling in the vents behind me in the sunroom.
I crept in there and took off the vent covers, hoping to make it easier for the chipmunk to climb out. I was sort of imagining him being a bit bald at this point with all the fur I’d found in the vents. Unless chipmunks shed, which I have no idea about.
Anyway, I crept back into the living room and not too long later I heard him again. I quietly got up and watched from the French doors as he debated whether to go out the open door or dive back down into the vent. Mentally I willed him to venture back outside, but he seemed really conflicted.
And why not? He had a nice warm cozy den in that vent and plenty of food and water. All he had to do was dodge a cat every now and then. And he’d successfully done that for two weeks. Life in the house was pretty good!
Eventually, however, he ran out outside, at which point I dashed in to shut the door behind him.
I’d feared Mr. G might injure the little guy but that he’d still be fast enough to get away to the safety of the vent and die in there. I did not want to deal with trying to remove that smell!
Now I’m just hoping it was a male chipmunk and not a pregnant female who left a litter behind in there. I haven’t heard any other signs to indicate there might be babies, but oh brother…that would be just the kind of crazy thing to happen next!
But in a way, I’m glad this happened. Life is so unpredictable, isn’t it? The bad things and the good. I never thought it’d be possible for a chipmunk to survive in a house with a cat for two weeks. If it had been Tigger or Tabby I don’t think the ending would’ve been so happy.
But I love that the seemingly impossible proved possible after all. That little chipmunk gave me hope.