“Have you tried sprinkling chili powder in the pots?” Eudora said.
Felix stared at her. “You don’t make authentic Brunswick stew, do you?”
Eudora gave a deep laugh that made him think of dark, paneled bars and, for some reason, flappers smoking cigars. “We’re going to become good friends, Felix.”
“Really.”
“Dad! We’re not killing anything and we’re not cooking it, either. And we’re not eating squirrel.”
“Squirrel is delicious,” Eudora said. “Tastes like rabbit.”
“Yuck, that’s gross,” Harry said.
Eudora made a move toward the bathroom. “Would you like me to have a look? I had squirrels in the attic last year.”
“No. I can’t let you do that.” Felix flinched. Every now and again, he heard the ghost of Pater’s voice in his own. I can’t let you do that. Pater dragged out can’t with a long imaginary r. So British and always a precursor to something bad.
“I’m not a fan of chivalry,” Eudora said, her voice sweet as strychnine.
“Neither am I. But no one’s going in there except for me.” He’d seen National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. He was not having a squirrel tearing through his house on a rodent rampage. “You’re both staying in the bedroom.”
“Whatever you say, hon.” Eudora put her arm around Harry. “Holler if you need us.”
“Don’t hurt them, Dad.”
“I wasn’t planning a squirrel carnage, Harry.” What he was planning, he had no clue.
“Wait! I know. I know! Max’s dad has a wet vac they used when the basement flooded. We can, like, suck them up in the wet vac and release them in the forest. What do you think, Eudora?”
“Well, child—”
Felix closed the bathroom door on the conversation, and the scrabbling got louder. Suppose Eudora was wrong, and it was a bat? Bats carried rabies. He really, really didn’t want a rabies shot. He hated needles even more than he hated squirrels.
He rummaged under the sink for Ella’s bathroom cleaning supplies. Rubber gloves seemed a good idea if you were going anywhere near squirrel afterbirth. He snapped on the purple gloves. A bit small, but they’d work. Were mother squirrels aggressive? He should grab a weapon, too, in case the situation called for self-defense. He picked up the loo brush, and the scrabbling stopped.
“Dad? Dad? What are you doing in there? Should we call in reinforcements? One-eight-hundred-come-get-my-squirrels?” Harry sounded as if he were choking on a giggle.
Felix pressed his ear against the closet door. All quiet on the Western Front. Time to channel Macbeth and be bloody, bold, and resolute. He eased open the door and immediately gagged on the stench of squalid zoo cage. After this, he was taking a long, hot shower in Harry’s bathroom. He wasn’t coming back in here until the entire place had been hosed down with industrial-strength antibacterial cleaner.
In the wall behind the third shelf, half-hidden by sheets, there appeared to be a serious hole with jagged, gnawed edges. The hole at the back of the top shelf was bigger—approximately eight inches wide with twigs jammed across the opening. Rising up on tiptoe, Felix tugged gently on the pile of thankfully older towels. They were shredded and bloodied, and in the middle was a potpourri of leaves and grasses, sticks and insulation, and two baby squirrels.
Squirrels had eaten through the siding, eaten through the drywall, and carried twigs and leaves inside his house. To go forth and multiply.
He looked heavenward. Don’t I have enough burdens? You had to send me squirrels?
A flash of fur shot at him, screeching like a demented Squirrel Nutkin. Felix swatted with the loo brush, missed, and slammed the closet door shut.
“Dad? Dad? Are you okay in there?”
“Not now, Harry—” Where was that little bastard? It had to be in the bathroom. He’d heard it plop to the floor.
The door to the bedroom opened.
“Stop mucking about, Harry, and—”