When Susan left to drop the kids off at school this morning, she was crying. I asked her what was wrong, but she waved me off and told me she’d tell me later.
When she did call me, I was relieved that it wasn’t something I did. It was a mommy thing. It was that kind of morning.
We went through most of the morning without talking or emailing, but she called around 11 to tell me that a friend, golfing buddy, fantasy football opponent and fellow Phillies fan Jeff Carlton had died.
Then, not long after that, she called back when she pulled into our driveway for lunch: she’d run over a squirrel. Not just any squirrel, but (probably not) the one that’s been eyeballing her for months. The squirrel that the kids and I have affectionately dubbed her “boyfriend.” This squirrel (could’ve been any squirrel to be fair) has been watching her. Staring through our kitchen window. Hanging out on the brick doing things that just ain’t natural for a squirrel. It’s roadkill now, though.
Susan was pretty upset. “I’m a murderer,” she said. No, darlin’, you squashed a rodent.
She cleaned up the carcass, sticking his still warm and bleeding corpse in a plastic bag. “What should I do with it?” she asked. I told her to toss it in the natural area across from our house. Something would eventually eat it. Something did eat the one I stuck out there a few months back when I found it in our driveway.
Her biggest concern was that Pippin didn’t get hold of it.
“Darlin’,” I said, “he’s a carnivore. We feed him raw meat.”
“I know, but it’s my squirrel.”
Ick.
There was nothing left but a couple of bloody spots on the pavement when I got home. Pippin managed to lick a little blood. I think he got a little piece of fur, too. Oh, well. He deserves a little snicky snack every now and then.
I think Susan’s over it.
