Friends of ours went on holiday and left us the keys to their summer cottage. They mentioned it would be handy if we fancied having a barbecue in the countryside or needed to tend to the vegetable garden. Really, who knows what use we’d have for someone else’s cottage keys, right?
This time, the keys were specifically needed for some weeding. Since everything was sown and planted, it required regular care, including pulling out unwanted weeds and poking around the bushes.
Before they left, they informed us that “an animal” sometimes visited, and we shouldn’t harm it. Feed it if necessary. With this enigmatic advice, they set off for the distant islands of Hawaii.
Initially, I was puzzled by their odd rapport with this neighbor. If it’s a nuisance, why should we feed it? However, knowing our friends’ kind nature, I could believe they might have been feeding some creature. These are strange times, after all. Maybe it’s a nuisance, but a good one.
So, whether it was watering and weeding or watering, weeding, and feeding a nuisance, it was all the same to us. If it must be fed, then fed it shall be. Perhaps it’s acting as some sort of guard?
The first evening, the ‘animal’ arrived. After a call to the far-off islands for confirmation and a detailed description, we ensured it was indeed the same creature. More accurately, it was named Creature. Yes, “Creature” was its name.
Creature appeared precisely at eight, surveyed the garden, and settled in a corner, whistling a sad tune. A song of betrayal and a being disenchanted with life. This prompted a call to confirm what sort of being it was.
It turned out Creature was a chipmunk that routinely visited them and drearily whistled for food. When asked why such a small chipmunk had such a grand and masculine name, they sheepishly mumbled that it introduced itself that way.
Regardless, Creature visited daily and attempted to whistle for its meal, akin to a busker singing for its supper.
I’d seen chipmunks in forests before and in cartoons too. But to have one come out of the woods, named Creature, to pay you a personal visit and sing just for you—well, I hadn’t heard stories like that. Perhaps, as in that joke, it was told, “Since there aren’t enough squirrels to go around, it’s your turn to approach the humans”?
That first evening, we generously piled a heap of seeds by the porch. Creature, upon seeing the mound, abruptly halted its song and began stuffing sunflower seeds into its mouth, trying to maintain a minimal loosening ratio.
Experience showed that to Creature, there was no such thing as “too many seeds.” Any pile would magically disappear within ten minutes at most. It would return, cheeks hollow as in a diet book titled “The Effective Diet,” but a minute of frantic foraging had them as large as ever, worthy of a pop star’s envy.
Creature feared nothing and no one. Its sole fear was that one day the seeds would run out, and life would lose its purpose. Therefore, it never allowed seeds to linger on the porch too long.
To avoid being disturbed, we’d pile our phones on the outdoor table. Always nearby and audible if anyone called.
As usual, one evening Creature appeared by the porch, demonstrating its punctuality. With disdain, it scratched the wooden plank with its paw, sniffed its finger for some reason, and sat down, gazing intensely into the distance. That evening, its mood was decidedly lyrical. Eyes scanning invisible notes, Creature picked the highest one and plaintively whistled its “Hunger Song.”
At that moment, the outdoor phone rang. While I was inside watching TV, unaware of Creature’s calls, I did hear the phone.
Meanwhile, my wife, who heard both Creature and the phone, decided the chipmunk took priority, and I could handle the call. With this in mind, she poured out a heap of seeds before Creature. The cheeky minstrel immediately hushed and grabbed the first handful. But it never made it into his mouth. Just as it opened its bottomless mandible, I appeared on the porch and, without wasting time with the steps, leapt off the edge. As five steps passed beneath me, I felt the air thicken and sensed something extraordinary was about to happen.
Creature sensed the extraordinary too, but only after a couple of seconds. During that time, my body landed with a thud on the plank, sending the furry virtuoso soaring like a see-saw in motion, mouth agape and paws full of seeds, defying gravity, ascending vertically and vanishing into the low clouds with a melancholic whistle.
I briefly noted how odd it was that chipmunks seemed to take flight these days. Surely, it’s a sign of rain.
The earth greeted its son ceremoniously seconds later. No one knew where it had been or what it had seen, but judging by its bulging eyes and fluffed tail, it had seen much, and it was terrifying. Upon landing on the soft earth, it vanished under the porch, like a covert saboteur in enemy territory.
Before the porch lay an untouched mound of seeds, symbolizing how fleeting art can be.
“He won’t come back,” we all agreed. No one would return after an unscheduled trip to the stratosphere!
Unexpectedly, I felt sadness. I sat by the pile of seeds. No, he definitely wouldn’t come back. Absent-mindedly, I plucked a large seed from atop the pile, popped it into my mouth, and crunched loudly.
A disgruntled whistle sounded from beneath the porch. There, paws spread wide like sumo wrestlers before a match, stood Creature, slightly rocking and glaring at me with angry, beady eyes. “No seeds for you!” his eyes seemed to say, and I understood much about myself through them.
And to this day, I wonder, how do chipmunks know such language?!
