I shake off failure and ready my stance for another pounce.
Bluebonnet shakes her head. “Don’t grab it with your bare hands. It’ll bite you. You don’t want rabies.”
“Rabies. Right. Don’t want that.”
The critter stops for a breather, and we stare at each other. Only one of us can win, and letting it live in the bathroom isn’t really an option. I, personally, like taking showers in my own home.
Recharged, the squirrel sets off again, and when the little beast scurries close to Bluebonnet, my plan changes. Instead of getting it away from her, I need to get her away from the squirrel.
With two strong tugs, I free the shower curtain from the hooks, then scoop Bluebonnet into my arms. I dodge the squirrel on my way out and kick the door closed as soon as we’re clear.
Heart thumping, I carry her to the couch and start scanning for signs of injury. “Did you get bit or scratched? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
“I’m okay.”
My gaze snaps to hers, and the air in the room seems thicker. Or maybe my lungs aren’t working properly. Is it adrenaline? Or do I have an allergy to squirrels? I do another scan. “You sure you’re okay?”
She’s wrapped in a shower curtain but it’s a map of the world and all the ocean parts are clear. Until now, I never truly considered how much of the globe is covered by water.
Transfixed, I swallow, tracing her curves with my gaze.
I think she looks great in my T-shirts, but this is even better.
Leaning in, I give into desire, ready to kiss her. But at the last second, self-control kicks in, and I pull back. “Sorry, I—”
Trailing a finger through my beard, she shifts so that our faces are closer. “Don’t be. I’m your wife.”
That’s all the invitation I need.
Her arms find their way around my neck as I stand, and hungry kisses make walking to the bedroom a bit harder, but I’m up to the challenge. The couch is no place for this conversation.
By the bathroom door, I stop. From the sound of it, the critter is still running laps. “It’s still in there.” And I need to figure out a way to get that invader out without getting rabies. But that doesn’t seem very important right now. Getting it out. Avoiding rabies is always important.
“It can’t open doors.” She pulls me back to her lips.
I fumble my way into the bedroom, close the door, and set her on the bed. “Just in case, I’ll lock our door.”
Walking away from her gives me a second to breathe and verify that I’m not experiencing a grand delusion. It can’t be my imagination. I never would’ve included the squirrel. How did it even get into the toilet?
She smiles, a mix of uncertainty and desire in her eyes.
“I’ll deal with it later. It’s not going anywhere.” Who cares how it got in there? But I will buy that thing a big bag of his favorite seeds as a thank-you.
* * *
Sliding out of bed,I’m silent, not wanting to wake her. It’s dark, but I don’t have a clue what time it is. Feeling around the floor, I grab my jeans. After closing the door, I tiptoe to the living room.
I pull on my jeans and fish my phone out of the pocket. Then I google ways to get a squirrel out of a bathroom. Surprisingly, I’m not the first to ask this question.
Several options are recommended by various sources: a trashcan and a shower curtain, an old towel, a bucket and a cutting board. But none of those are methods I want to take on by myself. And I don’t have access to any birds of prey or other squirrel predators. Besides, that seems like it would leave a mess, and I’d still have to get an animal out of the bathroom. Setting a trap seems to be the best choice.
And I have access to one. Beau bought a trap a couple of years back when a family of skunks decided to take up residence under the back porch by the mess hall. Unintentionally spooking them ruined dinner for everyone a time or two. Pretty sure that thing is in the tool barn.
It’s late, so my chances of bumping into anyone are low, which is good because my shirt is in the bedroom, and I don’t want to risk waking Bluebonnet right now.
But if she wakes up while I’m gone, I don’t want her to think I ran off, so I scrawl out a note saying where I’m headed and leave it on the coffee table. If it weren’t for the squirrel, I’d still be snuggled next to her. However, if it weren’t for the squirrel, cuddling might’ve been the way my night ended.
Glancing at the bathroom door, I shake my head. Who knows how much damage has already been done to the bathroom? I can’t let that thing stay in there all night. Plus, it would make late-night bathroom runs way too exciting.
