If teens have the power to make their parent’s miserable, and they do, then Seymore must be a teenager. She’s just two weeks shy of being five months old, based on when she opened her eyes, and in the squirrel world, that’s a teenager. She has outwitted us time after time. She’s independent, belligerent, stubborn, smart, adorable and loving all at once. The photo shows her typical response to authority. She has also taught me that it was good that Mike and I never met early enough to raise children together.
He plays the doting daddy and Seymore is his princess, whom he spoils. I’m the disciplinarian. She goes to him when she wants to play, seeks extra treats and does as she pleases. She comes to me when she’s scared, needs a few hairs for her nest and sometimes just to sit on my shoulder and talk a bit. No matter how many times I tell him not to give her walnuts but greens instead, he sneaks her a walnut. No matter how often I tell him not to let her nibble on his food, he’ll slip her a chip.
While the antics are cute, raising a squirrel is also time consuming and we’ve learned a lot.
Lessons for Raising an Orphaned Squirrel
Lesson One: Don’t build a cage out of wood and lightweight screen.
You know, you just don’t make the comparison at first. Sure, you run out and get tree branches to give the squirrel something to chew on and file her teeth. However, somehow in your head, you never quite make the connection between trees and cut board. To Seymore, they were one in the same.
We first experienced her escaping antics when we came home from my Friday night poker tournament. We opened the door and sitting on the back of the chair munching an acorn she must have snagged out of the bag in the kitchen, was Seymore. “Hi Mom. Hi Pop. The boys are sleeping.” She said in squirrel talk, indicating Rocky and Jessee the cats.
When we both said, “Seymore,” in unison, using our most stern voice, she knew what she thought was neat, was not. She immediately jumped back into her cage, sat atop her bedroom cage and hung her head, wringing her little hands together. (While some would call them paws, they simply aren’t. They’re bony, knobby hands…She gets that from my side of the family.) Mike put a board over the hole, but he did promise to put metal inside edges on the wood in the cage.
Well, the metal inside edges never came. Next, it was a hole in the screen. This time he repaired it right, putting heavy impenetrable but only on one section. Several months passed with new boards blocking the holes and I left for California. When I got back, Seymore was chewing the top edge of the cage. When I hear noise upstairs during the day, I know it isn’t good. Seymore ate through the top brace bar and the screen. She then climbed the screen to the side, found an opening (there’s plastic on the back to protect the walls because she still pees out the window.) and slithered out of the cage. I did a repair with a phone book—it would make any redneck proud–tucked her back in her cage and called Mike. That noon he came home and repaired it with sheetrock.
By now, you should be saying to yourself–“So if wood didn’t hold her, what make you think sheetrock will do the trick?” I thought that too. I didn’t, but I’m sure she got more calcium in her diet to go with the already heavy amount of fiber from the wood. Tomorrow, he’s putting metal corners and heavier screen on the cage.
Lesson Two: Hide all valuables and potentially dangerous items.
Squirrels are curious little creatures and could be on the reality show, “Hoarders.” They simply love everything and want it for their own. She spent hours trying to carry a heavy comforter off the davenport and into her cage. She steals paper towels, wads them in a ball and carries them to her cage. (Those are awwwww moments.) She’s snatched a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and into the cage it went. She took a lighter off the table–and back to her cage. She’s snatched cookies, cat hair–off the tail of the cat–poor old Jessee, combs, pens and other objects to numerous to name.
Lesson Three: Get plenty of paper towel and furniture covers.
Squirrels are pooping machines. Nothing is safe or sacred when it comes to squirrel poo. Following the squirrel with paper towel to clean up and putting sheets over the furniture is the only answer. In addition, throwing a bathrobe over your clothing helps.
Lesson Four: Never let a squirrel see where you hide the food.
Mike let her ride on his shoulder while he went to the cupboard to get a cookie. She snatched it out of his hands and since has gone to the restricted area–the kitchen and attempted, unsuccessfully, to open the cupboard.
Lesson Five: No matter how cute they are and how much you care for them, squirrels deserve to live a normal life.
This is a lesson for me, rather than the reader. I know it’s in her best interest to let her free when spring comes, but oh, how I’ll hate it. She needs other squirrels and a chance to live on her own. We’ve attempted to help her learn to forage–we hide her food in the bottom of her cage. We’ve tried to teach her that cats are dangerous, but are too afraid to let Rocky out, the only one of the cats fast enough to catch her. She builds her own nest, but there won’t be a comfy warm cage to hold it out in the world. It will be tough—but no matter how cute they are and how much you care for them, squirrels deserve to live a normal life.