Friends were heading off on vacation and left us the keys to their cottage. You know, just in case we wanted to have a barbecue in the countryside or do some weeding for the vegetables. Who knows what other reasons we might need someone else’s cottage keys for?
This time, the keys were specifically needed for “weeding”. Everything was already planted, and it required some regular nurturing through pulling out unwelcome weeds and hoeing around the plants.
Before they left, they warned us, saying there was an animal that occasionally visited. We were asked not to upset it. If anything, we could feed it. With this mysterious note, they departed for distant Hawaii.
At first, I was puzzled by this odd relationship with their neighbor. If they meant an animal, why would we need to feed it? However, knowing my friends’ kind nature, I figured they probably were feeding something there. Times are such, you know. Perhaps it’s just an animal, but a good one?
In essence, for us, whether it was watering and weeding or adding feeding an animal to that, it was the same task. If it needed feeding, we would do so. Maybe it was like a watchman there?
On the first evening, the animal showed up. After calling Hawaii to describe the creature and confirm, we assuredly learned that the animal was indeed “Scottie”. In fact, correctly put – it was Scottie because “Scottie” was his name.
Scottie arrived punctually at eight, surveyed the land, and, settling in a corner, whistled a sorrowful tune. A tune of a creature that felt deceived and disappointed by life. It was after this that we called to find out more about him.
Scottie turned out to be a chipmunk who regularly visited their yard, mournfully whistling for food. When asked who gave the little chipmunk such a robust name, our friends awkwardly exchanged glances, muttering something like it introduced itself that way.
Be that as it may, Scottie came to them daily, trying to whistle his way to food, much like a wandering minstrel sings for his supper.
I’d seen chipmunks before in the forest and in cartoons too. But one coming out of the woods named Scottie, visiting you and performing personally, was something I’d never heard of. Perhaps as in that joke, he got the directive, “Since there aren’t enough squirrels for everyone, it’s your turn to go to the humans”?
On the first evening, from our bounty, we piled a heap of sunflower seeds near the porch. Seeing the pile, Scottie immediately stopped whistling and began swiftly cramming seeds into his mouth, trying to maintain the slightest looseness possible in his cheeks.
Experience showed that for Scottie, there was no such thing as “too many seeds.” Any pile he would somehow teleport away in under ten minutes. He’d return for another serving with cheeks sunken like in a grim diet book, but after a minute of frantic work, his cheeks would swell up enviably thick.
Scottie feared nothing and no one. His only fear was the seeds might run out, thus losing the purpose of life. Therefore, Scottie wouldn’t let them sit long by the step.
…To keep the phones from being a bother, we stored them in a heap on the outdoor table. Always nearby and audible if someone called.
…As usual, in the evening, demonstrating wonders of punctuality, Scottie appeared by the porch. Disdainfully scratching the wooden deck with his paw, he sniffed his finger for some reason, then sat down, gazing intently into the distance. That evening, his mood was purely lyrical. Running his eyes over invisible notes, Scottie grabbed the highest one and plaintively whistled his “Song of Hunger”.
At that moment, a phone began ringing outside. I was sitting inside watching TV and didn’t hear Scottie’s call. But I did hear the phone.
At this moment, my wife, who heard both Scottie and the phone, decided that the chipmunk was a priority, and I could handle the call. With these, albeit fair thoughts, she dumped a pile of seeds in front of Scottie. The cheeky minstrel clammed up immediately and grabbed the first batch from the heap. But he didn’t manage to start eating. Just as he opened his bottomless burrow-like mouth, I appeared on the porch. Without wasting time taking the steps, I leapt straight off the porch. While the five steps floated beneath me, I sensed the air becoming denser, and a strong premonition of something unusual gripped me.
Scottie also felt something unusual, but only seconds later. In that time, my weight landed with a crash on the board on the opposite end, where the furry talent was about to savor his well-deserved rewards.
The seesaw effect was remarkable. Scottie, mouth agape and paws full like a market vendor with seeds, soared vertically, ignoring gravity, and disappeared with a sad whistle into the low clouds.
I did fleetingly note, oddly enough, chipmunks were flying a lot these days; perhaps it was a sign of rain.
…The earth ceremoniously welcomed its returning son within a few seconds. Where he went all that time and what he saw, no one ever knew. But judging by his wide eyes and fluffed, already substantial tail, he saw a lot of frightening stuff. Landing on the soft ground, he bolted under the porch like a parachutist behind enemy lines, disappearing completely.
But in front of the porch lay a small untouched pile of seeds, symbolizing the fleeting nature of art.
“He won’t come back,” was the unanimous opinion. No one would come back after an unsanctioned trip to the stratosphere!
Suddenly, it felt sad. I sat next to the pile of seeds. No, he definitely wouldn’t return. Automatically, my eye caught a large seed atop the pile, and I captured it with my fingers, crunching loudly.
From under the porch, an indignant whistle sounded. There stood Scottie, paws splayed like a sumo wrestler before a match, swaying, glaring at me with fiery black eyes. “You’ll get nothing, not my seeds!” they said, and I read much more about myself in them.
Still, I am amazed at how chipmunks know such words!
