Mister Fuzzy Britches

I must preface this story, it demands a preface. For some reason animals and small children love me. I am a magnet to them and I don't know why. Five year olds run up to me, hug my knees with abandon and beg me to join their tea party (or play Monster). Dogs, cats and just about every other creature in the animal kingdom pick me up in their radar and claim me as their own. I effortlessly become one of their pack, pride, herd or school. This is not a falsehood or an ego trip. If I get any more down to earth you'd have to grab a shovel to find me lol. The stories I've told on my blog are true, why reinvent the wheel?
'Nuff said
March 2005

A day off during the week.
I don't know what time it is because I like sleep. I am a heavy sleeper, rarely am I roused but on this particular morning I remember hearing a loud crashing noise. I wake partially and fall back asleep thinking that the trash collectors were moving down the alley behind my Baltimore townhouse. No harm, no foul.
Several hours later...
I trundle out of my bedroom (located on the 2nd floor in the back of the house) and into the landing. To my right is the bathroom, directly in front of me is the front bedroom that I'd made into an office. I rub the sleep from my eyes and freeze.
Is that what I think it is?
No?
Can't be?
There is a squirrel sitting on the arm of the rocking chair making "eee-EEEE-eeee" squeaky noises.
Panic races through me-WTF do I do with this?
(One of the reasons I bought this particular town house was due to the unusual bathroom. Instead of an electric ceiling fan vent there was a lovely skylight with a trap door at the top that could be opened and closed with a string that dangled from the closure. On several occasions I had birds fly in through the vent. Not a problem-throw a towel over the bird and take it outside to be released-clean up bird poo-easy-peasy-lemos-squeezie.)
OK back to Mister Fuzzy Britches sitting in my damned rocker....
I am standing on the 2nd floor landing in my wife beater t shirt and flannel shorts that are my sleep gear. I've got a bad case of bed head and am having a stare down contest with a squirrel. All of this without caffine is a bit overwhelming. Slowly I reach forward to shut the bedroom door-thinking that I can trap Mister Fuzzy Britches and contain him while I formulate a plan to get him OUT OF MY HOUSE! No dice- Mister Fuzzy Britches erupts in agitated chirping and I haul ass downstairs with visions of Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation (the part where he's got the squirrel on his back and doesn't know it).
Pacing downstairs I flounder trying to think who I can call...the police? Oh hell NO, not in my jammies. I'm not gonna go upstairs and face the Grey Menace to change clothes-NO WAY. I'll just have to be the bra-less wonder for the time being. The SPCA? Do they even do this kind of thing? A thought rolls through my brain-AN EXTERMINATOR! Great, grab the phone book, my hands shake as my fingers do the walking in the yellow pages. Pick up the phone, dial...ring...ring...ring....
"Pest control, please state the nature of your problem." the cheerful receptionist says
I babble incoherently ending with, "There's a squirrel in my house. Can you help me please?"
Visions of Mister Fuzzy Britches cavorting menacingly down my stairs enters my brain.
"OK calm down Miss, is the animal in the walls?"
I'm in tears, "NO you don't understand. He's in MY HOUSE, SITTING IN MY ROCKING CHAIR!!!!! PLEASE HELP ME!"
Very sweetly she replies, "Hold please."
I listen to musak and try to get myself under control. Snot is running out of my nose and I've gotta pee, things aren't looking too good for Bea.
She comes back on the line, "Someone will be there in 10 minutes."
I thank her, and heap blessings on her offspring.
I pace the living room floor waiting for rescue.
There is a knock at my door, Exterminator Man Tom Cole has arrived. I will break Blog ettiquette by giving his name because he's a GOD and if anybody in the Baltimore area needs help-he IS your man.
I give him the full story, telling every gory detail about the Grey Menace in the rocking chair.
He pats my shoulder, "Everything will be all right Miss. Do you have a broom?" he asks
A what? Is he gonna sweep up Mister Fuzzy Britches' poo scattered all over the bathroom?
It took every ounce of strength to not reply, "Why yes I ride one around the house on Halloween and scare kids in the neighborhood."
WTF is he kidding me?????
Exterminators have all kinds of animal gear, protective devices, bombs, long poles that spray stuff into hard to reach places and this clown is asking me for a broom?
In a confused stupor I go to the kitchen and hand him the requested device.
I watch him go up stairs and listen.
Doors close, excited chirping, a window being opened, heavy boots on the hardwood floors, boards creaking, things bumping, REALLY LOUD chirping noises, sweeping noises?? WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD IS GOING ON UP THERE??????
I gaze out my living room windows and see a small grey airbourne object land on my front lawn and scamper up the nearest tree. MISTER FUZZY BRITCHES IS OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tom Cole comes down the stairs, hands me the broom, "No charge ma'am."
I thank him for the exterminating god that he is and watch him drive off.

Here ends the tale of Mister Fuzzy Britches.