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| My front room after an hour's squirrel wrangling |
Picture the scene, I'm lying in bed on Saturday morning, nursing a hangover. A tentative call from Mr Fink downstairs, "Can someone come and give me a hand please?"
Dressed and intrigued I head downstairs, the front door is open, the living room is a bomb site. cushions on the floor, golf clubs under units, Mouse the cat locked in the dining room, yowling his head off.
It seems that on his travels, Mouse had managed to catch a baby squirrel, bring it back through the cat flap and let it go in the front room.
It took us 40 minutes to poke, , blockade, push and scare the squirrel out from under the sideboard and the sofa, it ran into the hallway towards the open front door, but to our dismay it ran towards the coats hanging on the rack and took cover in a ski jacket we'd borrowed from Mr Fink's cousin. I grabbed the jacket off the rack and went outside with it, lifted up the hood and there was the frightened by fully functioning squirrel. "Hang on, I'll go get my camera!" shouts Mr Fink, but the squirrel was too fast, he jumped off the coat and ran away.
What a morning!
