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A white wisp of dandelion fluff drifted on a disparate breeze through the second story hallway. Bumbling into what was once the office, and later a place for the wife to do her morning exercises. Now a community for the new, more fuzzy residents. A row of open shelving that once held books and the occasional sleeping cat now serve as the foundations for several squirrel’s homes. Dreys, constructed of twigs, leaves and other soft insulating materials gathered from outside.
The weathered wooden floor was a commons where families could gather and children could play. Among them, Chloe sits with several pups and their day’s haul of berries and wild pine nuts. Packed in sacks made of cloth scraps and twist ties. Maintenance mice push miniature hand brooms fashioned with mascara sponges and cotton balls acquired from the alley of a nearby grocer. Honestly, who just throws out an unopened package of cotton balls? They were put to much better use here, keeping the dust bunnies at bay around the house. Chloe gives the mice a couple pouches of tasty seeds from her own stock with a thankful smile.
The dandelion seed drifts closer, fiddling in fits around them as they lay out a clean square of cloth between them. Pouring out portions for each squirrel, young and old. The dandelion threatens to settle on top of it until it is sent spinning out into the corridor by the flick of one of the children’s tails.
Air currents from the open windows pull the drifter further down the hall, Bobbing its way passed passerby’s, a blue jay’s flap flushed the tiny seed though a particular hole in a particular wall that smelled of sweet and savoury things. Landing, finally, on a particular knotted stub of a table around which sat five particular rodents. Many plans, many schemes; many, many successful woodland creatures had entered that room as confused drifters much the same. Leaving as successful members of society. They, unfortunately, were among those less successful, at least for today. Yes, their efforts had allowed Francis to gather enough nuts for each of them to enjoy a small parcel. But, not nearly as much as he’d initially thought. Such a parcel was not worth the near loss of any of their lives. Much less that of his oldest and dearest friend.
And, though fatigued, Francis was not so disheartened that he would give up on the sweet smokey taste of Watkins. Made with only the most natural of ingredients and quality flavourants, it says so on the packaging. After all, they had managed to enjoy some from this venture, it was merely a matter of learning how to enjoy more next time. The others were far less determined than he, however.
Chuck explained that as he’d tried to reach for Gerry, when he’d brazenly climbed back on top of the fence, some of the old white paint gave way. Sliding under his feet in a single large flake, and he along with it. He had refused to accept Francis’ offer of his portion of the nuts, this was his dream after all, and Chuck felt he deserved to indulge in it. Besides, he had to admit, these peanuts were owlishly tasty. He could see why Francis coveted them so. With the caveat that he would not like to play bait again to get more. Gerry was more insistent however, and would not take no for an answer. Feeling responsible for the matter due to his aloof foolishness, he shoved his entire parcel in Chuck’s arms... save one nut he’d enjoyed a moment prior.
Darlene, on the other hand was in relatively high spirits. Sipping on a bead of fermented blackberry dew as was the traditional accompaniment to a Watkins peanut. Or so she says. Ribbing Francis in good humour for his melancholy. After all, no one got hurt, they all got to eat a fill of delectable peanuts, and they all learned a thing or two along the way. Oh, and Harold was there too.
Francis wasn’t sure he agreed with her casual analysis, and was lost in thought while the rest enjoyed their prizes. In some ways this was worse than outright failure, each earning only a small armful of peanuts for all that danger. A tease. Francis realized he hadn’t thought that part through. He hadn’t realized how little his pack truly held, or rather, how much it was being portioned, until he was doling the spoils out to his compatriots. Shall they embark on more and more raids, each fraught with the same risk as the first, only for a single sitting of smokey sweetness afterwards? If it were for the entire tin of Watkins, that might be another story. But the dog ate what remained of that one. Would there be another in time or would he need to find another source?
Even if they could distract Sheffield for long enough, how would one little squirrel bring that many peanuts back home? He surely could not carry that whole can up the fence. What was the solution, more members? More mouths to split the spoils between? On top of that, despite their mocking of the mutt, they all knew he was not truly so dimwitted. He would catch on to their ploy sooner rather than later. And one day... things would not end so well for one of them.
In the end, the small bits he and his crew had happily munched on would be all they could expect. He trilled dejectedly, ears drooping. The meeting was less than fruitful, no one, not even Darlene, was very keen on another adventure risking life and limb for a few nuts any time soon, no matter how savoury. But none could think of a better method either. So, after enjoying what they had, the group dispersed.
Francis wandered around the house for awhile before settling off in a corner to nibble on some of his stash of brandless, unsalted peanuts. Grown in a numbered field, packaged in a factory known to no one. These you can get practically anywhere, scattered by some elderly humans as a sort of token charity at the park. It was much like a sort of squirrel gruel. Nutritious enough, and tasted like it too.
As he sat there feeling sorry for himself, he heard a familiar soft squeak to his right, He looked up, surprised to see Chloe standing there with concern in her eyes, tail perked behind her back, whiskers twitching. She must’ve been wandering by with her friends and saw him sitting there. Tidying up perhaps, if the tightly folded clump of translucent plastic she carried was any indication. Kind hearted soul as she was, she asked what was wrong. Francis, too embarrassed to admit he’d nearly gotten his best friend eaten with his foolishness, only shrugged and said he’d not been feeling that well that day. But Chloe was rather sharp as squirrels go, and she knew there was more to it. Resting her hand softly on his shoulder, she looked right into his anxious eyes. Asking him, point blank, if that mean dog nearly got him today. Sheffield may not have, but she sure did, even if only half correct. Francis nodded in reluctant agreement. Her sharpness was one of her charms.
Chloe sighed and shook her head, putting down the plastic as she sat down beside him. Francis noticed the emblem as it uncrumpled itself. Familiar red, yellow and black shapes, he picked it up to look closer. On it was a picture of a sausage overlaid on a sunflower, the sausage was smiling. it was the emblem of Never Better Hot Dogs. They also do bratwurst and other cylindrical meatstuffs. Francis looked at Chloe, ears twitching, swivelling as he wondered where she’d gotten this. Chloe indicated that it was for one of the children who thought it looked funny, so she picked it up during a forage and brought it back for them. Francis nodded, looking back at the wrapper while she explained. She thinks they want to hang in their drey when they’re old enough to move out, but she’s not sure.
Yes... Yessssss... Francis could remember now! Maybe this could be it, the solution! Ecstatically he thanked Chloe, who was taken aback. A little confused, but grateful that he seemed to be feeling better now.
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