Oh, Rats! Read online

He heard a shriek. Tyrone wasn’t jumping rope anymore—he was dangling from the cable by his forepaws! The wind was blowing him almost sideways. With another shriek Tyrone lost his grip.

  Phoenix had wanted Tyrone to fall off, but the reality of it left him horrorstruck. Then he heard a third shriek. Peering over the edge of the box, he saw that Tyrone hadn’t fallen all the way to the ground. He’d managed to catch one of the lower cables. He was hanging off it upside down, clinging with all four paws. Forgetting the wind, Phoenix hustled bottom-first down to the lower crossbar and squirmed out to the cable.

  “Here!” he cried.

  Tyrone looked around in surprise and started clawing his way up the sagging cable. But as he neared the crossbar, his back paws lost their grip, leaving him dangling by only his forepaws.

  “Grab my tail!” Phoenix yelled.

  Clutching the crossbar, Phoenix set his back paws on the precarious cable and lowered his tail. But he wasn’t prepared for Tyrone actually grabbing it. The extra weight nearly broke his grip—nearly, but not quite. With a supreme effort Phoenix pulled himself fully onto the crossbar, and Tyrone scrambled up beside him.

  “We’ve got to . . . get out of this . . . this gale!” Tyrone panted, and he hopped toward the metal box.

  An insulated cable ran into the box through an opening on the side. There was just enough room for a squirrel to squeeze through, and Phoenix wriggled in behind Tyrone. As Phoenix’s eyes adjusted to the interior darkness, he made out various wires and switches and circuits.

  Tyrone, perched on one of the switches, was gaping at him. “What the heck are you doing up here?”

  Phoenix settled on a coil of wire. “I was curious to see what it was like,” he said, not entirely untruthfully.

  “Well, you saved my life, squirrel!”

  He had, hadn’t he? He found himself disliking Tyrone a little less. The box made a fine shelter from the storm, and the two of them huddled there till the wind stopped whistling in the opening. When they squeezed out, it was full-fledged night. Tyrone headed straight down the tower. Phoenix used his round-and-round technique. When he reached the bottom, he was chagrined to find the whole gang there to greet him. But before anyone could make a crack about his odd method of descent, Tyrone slapped him on the back and said, “This guy saved my fur!”

  “We saw!” Giselle cried.

  “That’s my brother,” Phoenix’s oldest sister confided to a friend.

  On the way back through the cornfield, squirrels vied to walk next to Phoenix. He barely felt the ground under his paws. Yesterday’s humiliation was totally forgotten. He’d become a hero without even having to go tightrope-walking!

  Back in the woods Tyrone ducked into the hole in his stump. He darted back out and dropped four nuts into Phoenix’s paw.

  “Small token of my thanks,” he said.

  The delicious smell made Phoenix’s nose twitch. “What are they?” he asked.

  “Smoked almonds. If you ever want more, just ask.”

  Tyrone thanked him again, said goodnight, and retired back into his stump. The rest of them drifted into the pines, Giselle falling in at Phoenix’s side. He figured she wanted one of the smoked almonds, but when he offered her one, she said she never ate right before bed.

  “Though I’m so wound up,” she added, “I doubt I’ll sleep.”

  He was wound up too. When she asked if he’d be interested in seeing her favorite spot, he said he’d love to.

  “Meet me in a few at the burial ground,” she said, and scampered off.

  Seeing as he wasn’t going to bed yet, he figured it would be okay to sample an almond. It was so tasty that he ate two more on the way back to his tree. He stashed the last one in his nest before heading for the burial ground.

  This was at the very south end of the woods, just above the wetlands, where the soil was softest. It seemed a strange favorite spot, but Giselle was waiting for him by one of the stone markers, her fur neatly brushed. Before he could ask if one of her ancestors lay under the marker, she was scurrying out of the woods. He’d never been in the wetlands before, but he didn’t hesitate, bounding beside her through the reeds. At first the reeds made a dry, rustling sound. Then they turned greener and quieter.

  When he and Giselle emerged on the bank of a small pond, he realized this must be her favorite spot. It was beautiful.

  “Look, another moon,” he said, pointing at the water.

  The moon was high in the sky now, and its twin glowed deep in the pond. There were stars down there too.

  “Those are reflections, silly,” Giselle said. She leaned out over the water. “See, there’s me.”

  He leaned out as well. There she was! And him, too! He smiled at himself. He shifted around so his tail was over the water. It looked quite impressive.

  “You have a wonderful tail,” she said, as if on cue. “In the sunlight you can see a little auburn in it.”

  “Thanks,” he said modestly.

  In the past Tyrone had been all Giselle talked about, but as they crouched there by the pond, she kept bringing the conversation around to him, Phoenix. It was delightful. So was exchanging soulful looks. Just as he was wondering if she might want to brush whiskers, she settled the issue by doing just that. It was so nice that later, when they were saying goodnight back in the woods, they did it again.

  * * *

  Phoenix didn’t get up the next day till the sun was high in the sky. It was the latest he’d ever slept, and he was so ravenous that he spent the whole afternoon foraging and eating. On the way back to his pine he thought of making a detour to the pond—it would be nice to check out his reflection in the daylight—but as he veered south he ran into a cousin of his who surprised him with the news that Tyrone was going tightrope-walking again.

  “Why?” Phoenix asked.

  “His licorice.”

  Phoenix followed his cousin to the north end of the woods. Most of the young squirrels were there already, Tyrone and Giselle included, Tyrone staring grimly out at the cornfield. High above it his rope of red licorice was draped over one of the power cables. It must have caught there when he got blown off. To Tyrone it seemed like a badge of shame.

  As soon as the sun began to set, Tyrone marched determinedly into the cornfield. Phoenix followed the others out to the fence and perched by Giselle on the top rail. When they spotted a bushy tail on one of the towers, Phoenix commented that it took guts for Tyrone to go back up there.

  “Let’s just hope you don’t have to rescue him again,” Giselle said, bumping shoulders.

  The licorice was dangling from the same top cable Tyrone had started out on yesterday, and Phoenix couldn’t help admiring the way he scampered right out onto the power line without a moment’s hesitation. On the other hand, the way he wrapped the licorice around his waist three times and tied it off with a flourish seemed a touch flamboyant. So Phoenix wasn’t sorry when Tyrone had to stop to catch his balance on his way back to the tower.

  “Oops,” said one of the squirrels when Tyrone had to catch his balance a second time.

  “I hope it’s not getting windy up there again,” said Phoenix’s youngest sister.

  The wind generally died down at sunset, but for the second day in a row the sunset seemed to be fueling it. The cornfield began to ripple. The power lines swayed. Tyrone was grasping his with all fours now, struggling to reach the pylon. Phoenix had the horrible thought that he might be expected to go back up there to help him. But Tyrone made it to the top crossbeam on his own, then scrambled down the far side of the metal box and slipped inside to wait out the blow.

  “What’s in there, anyway?” Giselle asked.

  “Human things,” Phoenix said knowledgeably.

  Off to the west the town’s glow was brightening. To the east a mist-veiled moon was rising over the lit-up beach houses. But the picturesqueness didn’t keep the young squirrels from growing bored.

  “I’m over this peanut gallery,” said one, dropping to the ground.<
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  Others followed suit. Phoenix liked the idea of heading to the pond but figured Giselle would want to stick around to make sure Tyrone got down in one piece. When someone suggested he’d probably dozed off up there, however, Phoenix broached his idea.

  “If you want,” said Giselle. “But it’s not as good when it’s windy like this. If the water’s not smooth, you can’t see yourself very clearly.”

  Just as Phoenix was agreeing that it made sense to postpone, the town lights all went dark. So did the beach houses. The only light left came from the shrouded moon.

  “Do the humans all go to bed at exactly the same time?” someone wondered.

  No one knew. But the scraping of the corn stalks in the dark made their fur crawl, and the last of them soon abandoned the fence. Phoenix walked Giselle to her tree and brushed whiskers goodnight.

  * * *

  In the morning he woke up hungry, as usual, and dug the fourth smoked almond out of a nook. It was so yummy he decided to take Tyrone up on his offer of more. When he got to the stump, the catbird was perched on it.

  “Is Tyrone home?” he asked.

  The catbird shook her head.

  “Out foraging?” Phoenix asked.

  “He never goes foraging,” said the catbird. “His larder’s always full. Last week he gave me three golden raisins.”

  “Is he at his townhouse?”

  “He never came down from that tower.”

  Phoenix looked out at the fence and the field beyond. The corn stalks weren’t swaying anymore. “I guess he needed to catch up on his sleep,” he said.

  “You could put it that way,” the catbird said.

  “What do you mean?” Phoenix said, struck by the bird’s dark tone.

  “He’s dead,” said the bird.

  “Dead?” Phoenix said incredulously. “What makes you say that?”

  “I flew up and looked.”

  For a moment Phoenix just stared out at the nearest pylon. Had Tyrone been flattened like the raccoon his father showed him? What could have flattened him up there?

  “I don’t believe you,” he said at last.

  The bird ruffled its feathers. “Check for yourself.”

  3

  SMOKED ALMONDS

  PHOENIX’S PARENTS HAD DRUMMED INTO his head never to leave the woods alone in the daylight, so he went to hunt down his father. He finally found him, paws on hips, frowning at a hole between two roots of a swamp maple.

  “What’s the matter?” Phoenix asked.

  “Chipmunks,” Rupert muttered. “That was one of my biggest caches.”

  Phoenix sympathized, then told him about Tyrone.

  “Dead?” Rupert said dubiously.

  Phoenix led him back to the vacant stump and pointed at the tower.

  “Why would he be stupid enough to climb up there?” Rupert asked.

  “You’d be surprised,” said the catbird, alighting on the stump. “He’s not the only one.”

  Phoenix stared daggers at the bird, who quickly fluttered off into a scrub oak. Turning to his father, Phoenix said, “Tyrone may be a showboat, but we’ve got to see if he’s dead or alive.”

  Rupert scanned the sky carefully before giving the okay to make a dash for the cornfield. On the way up the tower Rupert stopped to do five more sky scans, which struck Phoenix as overkill. The biggest bird in sight was a blue jay.

  When they reached the metal box, Phoenix acted as if he’d never seen it close up.

  “Hey, look, there’s a way in over here,” he called out.

  He let his father go first, then wriggled in after. When his eyes adjusted, it was a relief to see Tyrone looking fine, asleep in a corner with the licorice still around his waist. When Phoenix called his name, however, Tyrone didn’t respond. Nor did he react to being shaken. Rupert examined him and declared forlornly that the catbird was right.

  “But he’s not flattened,” Phoenix said.

  “You don’t have to be flattened to be dead, son.”

  “So—what killed him?” Phoenix asked in alarm.

  Rupert had no clue. “Your great-aunt Flo might have an idea,” he said. “Go get her. And be careful.”

  Phoenix suspected this was a fool’s errand. Knowledgeable as she was, his great aunt was the oldest squirrel he knew, and he seriously doubted she would be able to climb the steel tower. But he went, and when he got to her white birch, he wondered if he might be mistaken. Her hole was near the very top, and she clearly got up and down from there.

  Phoenix’s nest, like most squirrels’, was made of leaves and grass, but Great-Aunt Flo’s was lined with the same sort of newspaper he’d seen in the container near the humans’ watering hole. When he poked his head in, it was almost as if she’d been expecting him.

  “Ah, Phoenix,” she said, smoothing her whiskers back against her graying snout. “Let me guess. Love problems.”

  “Er, no,” he said. “My father asked me to get you.”

  “Having marital issues, is he?”

  “No, it’s about Tyrone. He’s a young squirrel who—”

  “I know Tyrone. Is it getting too much for him, splitting his time between the woods and the town?”

  “It’s not that. He’s dead.”

  “Oh, dear. Car?”

  “Car?”

  “Run over?”

  “He’s not flattened, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Fox?”

  “I don’t think so. My father was hoping you’d come take a look. But . . . it’s kind of high up.”

  “Then I’d better have a nibble first.”

  The aged squirrel pulled a half-eaten horse chestnut out from under some newspaper. After gnawing a sliver off, she offered it to Phoenix, but before he could even try it, she was out of the hole. He tossed it aside reluctantly and followed her. She hurtled straight down the slender white trunk and watched in amusement as Phoenix made his way down after her.

  “You must be dizzy from all that circling,” she remarked when he reached her.

  “Admiring the bark,” he said quickly.

  “Ah. Birches are lovely, aren’t they?”

  When they got to the north end of the woods, Phoenix pointed out the pylon with the metal box. Great-Aunt Flo muttered something under her breath about silly young squirrels, then she checked the sky and dashed into the cornfield. He bolted after her, but by the time he got to the tower she was already halfway up. His father’s voice must have guided her into the box, for when Phoenix arrived, panting, on the first crossbar, she was nowhere to be seen. He felt a little shamefaced as he squeezed inside.

  His great aunt and his father were examining Tyrone.

  “Any ideas?” Rupert was saying.

  Great-Aunt Flo didn’t reply. But in a moment her ears pricked up.

  “Hear that?” she said.

  “What?” Phoenix and his father asked in unison.

  She poked her head out of the box and quickly pulled it back in.

  “Humans.”

  Rupert stuck his head out, then gave Phoenix a turn. A truck was approaching on a rutted dirt road through the corn. It stopped at the foot of the tower, and two humans got out. They had tool belts around their waists and shiny metal hats on their heads.

  “They’re coming up!” Phoenix cried, pulling his head back in as the humans started climbing the tower.

  “This explains it,” said Great-Aunt Flo. “Tyrone was electrocuted.”

  “How?” Rupert asked.

  “I saw the lights along the beach go dark last night. He must have shorted their grid.” She pointed out how Tyrone’s body lay between two metal coils. “The humans are coming to troubleshoot.”

  Phoenix had no idea what “shorted their grid” or “troubleshoot” meant, but he was too nervous about facing humans to ask. “Shouldn’t we get out of here?” he said.

  “And leave Tyrone to the humans?” chided Great-Aunt Flo. “Don’t you think he deserves a proper burial?”

  Rupert peeked out of the
box again. “At least they’re slow climbers,” he said. “How do we get Tyrone down?”

  “Drop him?” Phoenix suggested.

  “No, we’ll strap him to your back, Phoenix,” Great-Aunt Flo said.

  “What?”

  “You’re the biggest and strongest of us.”

  “I daresay you’re right, Flo,” said Rupert.

  Phoenix was stunned. Was he really bigger and stronger than his father? Dire as the situation was, the thought made his chest swell.

  Great-Aunt Flo pulled the licorice rope from around Tyrone’s waist but decided it wasn’t strong enough. She yanked some wire from the spool.

  “You probably have the strongest teeth, too,” she said, holding it out to Phoenix. “Give it a try.”

  Squirrels are great gnawers. Their front teeth never stop growing, so they have to do a lot of gnawing just to keep their teeth from getting too long. Though the wire was very hard, Phoenix managed to sever it. He and Rupert push-pulled Tyrone out onto the crossbar, then Rupert and Great-Aunt Flo used the wire to cinch Tyrone onto Phoenix’s back.

  Rupert was right about the humans being slow. In all this time they’d barely managed to get halfway up one of the tower’s legs. They were unobservant as well. As they clanged upward, they didn’t even notice the three squirrels—four, if you counted Tyrone—making their descent on the opposite side of the tower. Of course Phoenix went backward the whole way down.

  “Out of respect for Tyrone,” he explained to his father and great-aunt at the bottom.

  Their descent hadn’t gone unnoticed by the squirrels. Several had been struck earlier by the sight of the great and wise Flo racing north through the woods with young Phoenix on her heels. Now almost every squirrel in the area had gathered by Tyrone’s stump as a welcoming party. The scene quickly turned lugubrious. Tyrone’s relatives gnashed their teeth and moaned as they unloaded Phoenix’s limp cargo.

  At twilight the squirrel community held a ceremony at the burial ground. Somber as it was, Phoenix couldn’t help noticing the admiring looks he was getting from other young squirrels. If his rescue of Tyrone hadn’t erased the puking episode from everyone’s minds, his carrying Tyrone’s body down the tower certainly had. Still, it sobered him to think that a squirrel as young and healthy as Tyrone could suddenly be lying six inches underground—even if Tyrone’s mother said in her sniffling tribute that her son was now “in a place where all nuts are shelled.”