My New Friends

SATIRE

Photo Credits: Me. These are my crawl space squirrels. Say hi.

Sept. 9 at 8 p.m. of this year marked the beginning of the enriching experience that was the three new additions to my life.  

I was alone in my apartment—a rare occasion since I shared the space with two friends, so I decided to turn in early and get a head start on my nighttime routine. 

Standing in the middle of my bathroom and scrolling through my music playlist, I heard what sounded like drips of water. Even more startling, I looked down and saw that my socks were wet. Water was leaking from the crawl space above my bathroom where the air vent resides. 

Exasperated, I reach up to see what could possibly be leaking when the smell hits me. 

No, this wasn’t a leak. It was pee. And looking down at me through the gap of my air vent was the beady gaze of a squirrel. Its cute little face pressed into the gap as it urinated all over my recently swept, vacuumed and mopped bathroom floor. Exasperation aside, I didn’t want to be rude, as the furry little friend was clearly trying to introduce itself. 

Our first impression must have gone over well because soon after we locked eyes and I screamed in shock, it began growling with joy and clawing at the open gap with such fervor that caulk and plaster sprinkled into my eyes and nose, momentarily blinding me. 

Now this could be taken as a mildly traumatizing experience, but I took it as a compliment. It isn’t everyday that someone likes your apartment so much they try to move in. 

But like any responsible and kindhearted adult, I worried for the safety of such a delicate creature going so ballistic above my head. I took some precautions so it wouldn’t get through the gap and fall onto such hard tile (I called pest control).  

But as the universe saw fit, I learned that pest control doesn’t take calls in the evening... nor do they handle animals inside a home, because why would they ever do that? But this was certainly a blessing in disguise. If pest control had come when I called, I wouldn’t have met the rest of the family upstairs. 

When I reentered the bathroom, there wasn’t one pair of paws nor two, but three pairs reaching for me with violent passion, clearly unsatisfied with my crawl space and would much rather be inside my home.   

Call me introverted, but meeting three new residents was just too much for me, especially as they all chirped, growled and yowled at me all like a choir. 

Sadly, our apartment lease had strict rules on how many occupants can reside in the apartment. At midnight, when all my current roommates came back home, we did have to notify our landlord (you would have thought the presence of three squirrels in a crawl space would be considered an emergency. Turns out it isn’t).

While the individual we talked to on the phone was very kind and worried, animal control was not… meaning both the landlord and apartment residents pestered animal control for months to come help the poor squirrels and were met with broken promises and radio silence. 

But the past two months of radio silence from animal control bloomed into my roommates and I bonding with our mildly threatening companions in our crawl space. 

How could you not get attached when for the past couple months you have had to duck and cover your head under the crawl space to not get peed on? Or the fact that at about 6 p.m. you can hear them scratching, chewing and cracking objects above your head while trying to use the bathroom. Or my favorite—the squirrels chewing on wires that made our light flicker and sitting on the bathroom light making it sag from the ceiling. The constant reminders of their presence became a comfort to us all. 

My favorite memory of the furry friends is that their arrival in our crawl space somehow aligned with everyone in the apartment, me included, developing an unknown sickness that plagued us for weeks. Good times. 

Another month of no-show animal control turned us into detectives. We were perplexed on how these squirrels seamlessly entered and exited the crawl space, so we sleuthed around outside.

Our furry friends were geniuses and used tree branches that laid against our roof as a convenient ladder to hop right into our crawl space. I mean, come on. With that level of ingenuity, who could be mad? But wait, there’s more—they came prepared. The squirrels also realized brick is the perfect wall-scaling material, and wires are easy to grab as rope. Not only do they use the tree branches, but they can also rock climb the building to the roof like a squirrel Spider-Man variant.

So really, it was a matter of when and how we all met. 

But like all good things, it must come to an end. After three wonderful months of coexisting, they were humanely removed from our crawl space…evicted. Their entrance was closed off by maintenance. I find myself missing the constant state of fear and edge they would put me in when I entered my bathroom. 

Before they were evicted, however, they left us a few parting gifts. When the outdoor temperature gets a little too warm, our bathroom smells faintly of barnyard and pee, assuring that we never forget our former pawed residents. 

When they resided above us, they made a cute little nest that animal control forgot to remove with the tenants, so if the vent is on, occasionally a dusting of leaves and bark will sprinkle atop your head. It helps me feel especially refreshed and ready for the day when I get out of the shower and nest confetti sticks to my freshly washed head. 

Occasionally they pay us a visit, climbing to my bedroom window sill and yowling outside from dawn to dusk. They scratch at the window pane and wave hello to me while I try to get work done in peace. It’s like they know when I need a break. 

They haunt the narrative, if you will, reminding me of the bond we shared these past few months and the memories we created together. 

I wish the best for my new friends and the next phase of their lives. I appreciate all that they gifted us—the lasting remnants they left behind, that we have the pleasure to deal with to this day.