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The Antics of Tom and Jerry, et al.
By Florence Vining Thomen, East Canaan
For some reason, the cornice on one side of my house was never closed in—providing an ideal home for a red squirrel family, it appears. Looking up from her place beside me on our recliner, my kitty cat seemed engrossed in watching something interesting up there, at the corner of the house.
There we saw two half-grown red squirrels, daring each other to see who would be brave enough to climb out around the edge of their home, to unexplored places. I named them Tom and Jerry. Tom seemed to be the more willing to try new things. He clung tightly to home base but ventured, tentatively, to ease himself all the way out. Then along came Jerry to sort of push him. "Cut that out," said Tom, and back inside he pulled his sleek little body. So Jerry decided to show off a bit—but once he looked out and saw how far it was to the ground below, back in he ducked. Tom tried again, only to withdraw again: "No, it's too scary for me, too." Then they both peered out with those cute, inquisitive faces and went back inside to discuss the possibilities.
By now, my cat and I had stiff necks from watching this slow-motion drama. Then Tom tried again and managed to climb up to the edge of the roof, where he realized that life had really begun to unfold. After numerous attempts on Tom's part, and with Jerry making futile starts, the real excitement soon took place. Tom crawled out, hanging on for dear life. No, it was still too much even for him, and in he went. "Well, it's now or never!" Tom bravely exclaimed, and out he went again, venturing halfway down the building's corner board trim. A spruce tree limb just about touched the building, so he started to figure a way to climb aboard the limb. At last, he made the brave transition from home base to the tree and the outside world. Up and up he scampered, along the huge tree's trunk, then along the hidden branches, laden with many interesting things to nibble on. Then he decided to find his way back to home territory—but no, it wasn't time to leave yet, so back he went for more exploration.
"Now I can go home and tell Jerry how great it was and how easy," he might have finally thought. But Jerry was already dozing in the safety of their home and content to just keep the bed warm for his daredevil brother.
You know that et al. means "and others"—and so it soon became apparent that there were siblings—sisters Etta and Alta! But they were so timid, even more so than brother Jerry. He, however, couldn't stand to sit and watch Tom cavorting around in the nearby tree. So, after numerous attempts, he finally exited the home base and leapt into the tree. He looked momentarily like his cousin, the flying squirrel.
What fun those two had! They chased each other around and around the tree, and the tree trunk in particular; all the while, the sisters dared to crawl out only far enough to get up on the roof. Well, it was a beginning. Finally Alta decided to take a stab at it and join her brothers in that fascinating tree, so down she went, along the corner board of the house and leapt into the tree. Then the fun began as the three siblings learned what freedom really meant. Etta eventually joined her siblings as they romped through the spruce tree. One was seen struggling with a small limb and later with something in his mouth, like a small cone. At last observation, all four were running in and out of the old home.
But let me tell you—this is not a finished story yet! I took a small handsaw out to that spruce tree and took two cuts across a long-dead limb—what stopped me? Three squirrel youngsters came scampering out from under the latticework of my sunporch and raced, pell-mell, directly at my feet. I can tell you, I did a fast two-step and brandished the little saw and, luckily, they decided to race up the tree trunk. I departed, defeated and disillusioned. Wow, they are aggressive young warriors! I won't be invading their territory again soon.
A few weeks have now passed, and it seems that there is only one member of the family still around. At various times of day he seems to get very serious about food. Even though I used my binoculars, I have been unable to actually identify his constant choice of delicacy.
He scampers up to the very top tender limbs of his favorite evergreen tree. Late in the season this tree sheds hundreds of the previous year’s cones, which at 2 or 3 inches are the ideal size for constructing Christmas wreaths. I have donated several bagsful of these to the art teacher at the Canaan Elementary School, and the resulting decorative wreaths are very lovely.
But, to continue, Tom seems to remove some tidbit from those topmost branches and scurry down the tree trunk to a favorite nibbling place. I assume he is eating young cones. In fact, I’ve spied him holding a green item in his paws, making him look as if he were playing a flute. He stands on his hind feet and holds his treasure with his cute little "hands" and continually spits out some useless part, which falls to the ground. Upon examination I found many young flakes of what appear to be the unpalatable parts of the tender, immature cones.
His hasty trip up and back continues for many minutes—perhaps an hour. I usually tire of the whole performance after 15 or 20 such trips. He doesn’t seem to be getting fatter; it seems that he gets very little edible material with each trip. Why does he go to the top of the tree when the whole tree produces cones? Maybe those up there in the breeze and sunlight have special features. Who knows? It is one of nature’s mysteries that I enjoy pondering.
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