My daughter brought home a baby squirrel who had been attacked by a cat. My first thought was ew, you touched a squirrel? But when I saw the little booger – tiny and hurt and scared inside a little box – my heart was won.
My daughter demanded Don’t Name Him! – in case he dies, then we’ll be less sad. Naturally, my son immediately named him: Norman! We gave him a bath and cleaned his wounds and fed him some puppy milk. He slept in my room in a warm bed my daughter made.
The next day he laid next to me while I worked at my desk. He made a few chirps and some scratching noises and I thought maybe he was getting better. But at 2:46pm Norman passed. We were all super sad. My son dug him a grave. My daughter wrote him a poem and we buried Norman in our backyard with a pretty flower, an acorn and a rock that said “Norm”.
Now I really have a thing for squirrels.
