Friends of ours went on holiday and left us the keys to their country cottage. You know, just in case we wanted to enjoy a barbecue in the countryside or do a bit of weeding in their vegetable garden. Well, there could be countless reasons to have the keys to someone else’s cottage.
This time, the keys were needed for “weeding”. Everything was planted and required periodic care, which involved pulling out unplanned pesky weeds and encircling the bushes with fresh soil.
Before leaving, they mentioned casually that a creature often visited their place; we were asked to be kind to her. Feed her if necessary, they said. And with that mysterious note, they departed for distant Cornwall.
At first, I was puzzled by such strange relations with a neighbor. If this creature was such a problem, why did we have to feed it? Yet, knowing our friends’ kind nature, it wasn’t surprising they’d been feeding someone. Times are like that, after all. Perhaps the creature was bothersome, but a good soul at heart?
Whether watering and weeding or watering, weeding, and feeding a creature, it’s all the same in the end. We’ll feed it if needed. Maybe it’s some sort of guard?
On the first evening, the creature did make an appearance. After a call to faraway Cornwall for details and a description of the visitor, we confirmed it was indeed the right creature. Actually, to be precise, it was Creature. Because “Creature” was its name.
Creature arrived promptly at eight, surveyed the garden, and then settled in a corner, whistling a melancholy tune. It was a song of a being deceived and disappointed with life. And it was this that prompted us to make that confirming call.
Creature turned out to be a chipmunk that regularly visited their garden, forlornly whistling for food.
When we asked who gave the tiny chipmunk such an imposing name, our friends awkwardly exchanged glances and mumbled something about him introducing himself that way. However funny it sounded, Creature visited daily, playing his tunes for sustenance, much like a busker singing for supper.
I’d seen chipmunks in the woods before, watched cartoons with them too. But having a chipmunk named Creature step out of the woods to serenade you personally was something I’d never seen or heard of. Perhaps, like in that joke, he was told, “Since there aren’t enough squirrels, it’s your turn to go to humans”?
On the first evening, in a bout of generosity, we heaped a pile of seeds by the porch for Creature. Upon seeing the mound, he choked on his notes and began shoving sunflower seeds into his mouth, ensuring they were packed with the least amount of air space.
As experience showed, there was no concept of “too many seeds” for him. He could make any amount vanish within, at most, ten minutes. For each new portion, he returned looking starved, his cheeks sunken like a character in the book “The Effective Diet,” only to have his cheeks swell up again, moments later, to a size that even Samantha Fox might envy.
Creature feared nothing and no one. Only the idea of the seeds running out scared him, which would render life meaningless. So, he never let them sit long by the porch.
… We kept our phones on the outdoor table to avoid constant interruptions. They were always close enough to hear if anyone called.
… As usual, in the evening, displaying impeccable punctuality, Creature appeared by the deck. Scraping a claw dismissively on the wooden platform, for some reason, he sniffed his paw and then sat, looking thoughtfully into the distance. That evening, his mood was decidedly lyrical, and scanning unseen notes, Creature chose the highest one and began his “Song of Hunger.”
At that moment, a phone, lying outside, began to ring. I was inside, watching TV, and didn’t hear Creature’s calls, but I did hear the phone.
Meanwhile, my wife, who heard both Creature and the phone, decided the chipmunk deserved priority, believing I could answer the call. With that reasonable thought, she poured a pile of seeds before Creature. The cheeky minstrel fell silent and grabbed the first batch from the pile. But he didn’t get a chance to put it in his mouth. Just as he opened his vast maw, I appeared on the deck and, without wasting time with steps, leapt straight off. As all five steps gently blurred beneath me, I sense the air thickening and a strong sense of something extraordinary about to happen enveloped me.
Creature also sensed something extraordinary, but only a moment later. In the meantime, my body had crashed onto a board where the furry artist was preparing to savor his hard-earned prize.
The seesaw effect was astonishing. Creature, mouth agape and hands brimming with seeds like a market granny, ignored gravity entirely, shooting up vertically with a mournful whistle before vanishing into the low-hanging clouds.
Briefly, I mused that strangely, chipmunks seemed to fly off these days, likely a sign of rain.
… The earth welcomed its son ceremoniously a few seconds later. Where he’d been or what he saw, nobody ever discovered. However, judging by his wide eyes and fluffed-up, already sizable tail, he saw much and it was terrifying. Landing softly, he swiftly darted under the porch like a commando infiltrating enemy lines, vanishing from sight.
Before the porch lay the untouched pile of seeds, symbolizing how fleeting art can be.
– He’s not coming back – we collectively agreed. And who would return after an unsanctioned trip to the stratosphere?
For some reason, we felt a wave of sadness. I crouched by the seed pile. Nope, he’s not coming back. Automatically, my eye caught a large seed on top of the pile, and I picked it up, crunching it loudly.
From beneath the porch came an indignant whistle. There, standing with paws spread like sumo wrestlers before a bout, was Creature, swaying slightly and glaring at me with dark, beady eyes. No way you’re having my seeds! – his eyes seemed to say. And I read much more about myself in them.
And to this day, I wonder how chipmunks know such words?!
