Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
It would almost be funny, if the beastie weren’t also growling and waving the sheep around, arousing concerns that it might be rabid. Even if it’s just an eccentric rodent with anger issues, I don’t want it anywhere near my son.
“Okay, don’t worry, baby,” I say, kissing the top of Chase’s head. “I’ll tuck you into the big bed to stay cozy and safe, and I’ll go shoo the squirrel back outside.”
Chase clings tighter to me, his eyes wide. “No, Mommy. I scared. I don’t want to be by myself.”
“Okay, okay, don’t worry, buddy,” I say, my breath rushing out as my alarm starts to blare, signaling the start of the normal morning chaos.
But the normal chaos will have to wait until I return Mr. Nutty to the great outdoors. And for that, I’m going to need an extra pair of hands. Or at least one hand. One hand will do in a pinch.
Racing into my room, I turn off the alarm, then zoom back onto the landing and down the open hallway to Aaron’s room, Chase bouncing on my hip. I’m about to knock when a sleepy-looking Aaron throws the door open.
At the sight of him in nothing but tight blue boxer briefs and his sling, my jaw drops.
Damn, this man is a snack.
No, he’s a four-course dinner with extra dessert.
Thankfully, he’s also only half awake. He squints at me, making me hope he’s too out of it to notice that I was openly drooling there for a second.
Pulling myself together, I explain, “A squirrel got into the house. I need to get it out, but Chase is scared to stay up here by himself. Can you guys hang out in your room for a few minutes, while I take care of it?”
“Sure, but—”
“Thanks,” I cut in, setting Chase on his feet, and crouching down to cup his face in my hands. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of silly Mr. Nutty in no time. Just go climb into Aaron’s bed. He’ll keep you safe until I’m finished.”
“Okay, Mommy.” He runs past Aaron’s legs as he shouts, “Good morning, Awin. Come on, let’s hide under the covers.”
“Let me throw on some pants and I’ll come help you,” Aaron says.
“No, stay with Chase,” I say, backing away. “I’ve got this.”
“But it could be that crazy squirrel,” he says, pressing on with a strained laugh at my blank look. “The crazy squirrel? Remember? The one who humped my face in your garage in November?”
I huff, smiling despite the rodent still barking and slinging plastic animals in my living room. “Oh my God, I forgot about that.”
“How could you forget about that? You filmed it,” he says incredulously. “It molested me. Right in front of you. It didn’t even buy me dinner after.”
Chuckling I nod. “Yeah, that was pretty awesome. And this is good news.”
He glares at me. “How’s that?”
I shrug. “Well, if it’s the same squirrel, it’s probably just crazy, not rabid. If it were rabid, it would be dead by now.”
“How do you know how long a squirrel can live with rabies?” he asks as I turn toward the stairs.
“I don’t,” I toss over my shoulder, “but I’m feeling optimistic. Go. Watch Chase. I’ll take care of this.”
He says something else, but I’m already trotting down the stairs, mulling over my containment strategies. Figuring I’ll want to have a herding instrument of some kind, I stick close to the wall as I pad through the living room. The squirrel doesn’t seem to notice me. He’s moved on to rubbing the plastic goat on his belly in a way that’s disturbingly human. He reminds me a bit of Chase when he’s playing with his sea creatures in the bath.
But Mr. Nutty isn’t a little boy or a pet, he’s a wild animal, so I shouldn’t feel bad about arming myself—just in case.
I locate a tennis racket in the hall closet, cursing as half a dozen other things tumble out onto the floor as I pull it free. But the mess will have to wait. I have to get this rodent back in the great outdoors and breakfast on the table in the next ten minutes or I’ll be late to drop Chase off at daycare again.
Bracing myself for battle or rodent tennis or whatever is about to happen, I move cautiously back into the living room. Climbing quietly over the couch, I step down beside the coffee table, my heart hammering in my chest as Mr. Nutty spins to face me. He squeals, I squeal in response, and the next few seconds are a blur of flying plastic animals, crumbling Legos, and me whipping my racket around in a way that I’m sure is doing nothing to intimidate the squirrel now racing across the room toward the dining table.
“No, not my table!” I shout as it leaps on top. “You’re dirty!”