I met Eric in April.  He was lying next to the stone wall in front of Bank of America, crippled legs skewed.  My heart sank.  Another boy in trouble.  I walk to the post office for help.  “Oh!” the clerk says,”Don’t touch him.  He might bite!”  I take him home in a paper bag, towel him dry, and give him a box for a bed in the bathroom.

In the wild, a lucky, well-educated, smart tree squirrel can live ten years.  Living with me will lengthen Eric’s life by ten years, which means my new friend will keep me company until I’m 112, a cheerful thought.

The next day I phone Mr. Squirrel Rescue Man in Cambridge to ask if he wants Eric, because my family warns that Eric is going to eat my furniture.  Mr. Squirrel Rescue Man already has eight squirrels so he cannot rescue mine, which is good because I have no intention of getting rid of Eric. 

I return happily to feeding Eric milk out of a spoon.  Soon Eric discovers the joys of blueberries and peanuts.  He also gnaws my fingernails — but not enough to be useful.

Tummy full, Eric lies against my chest and I pet his velvet fur, which makes us both purr.  True, Eric can only hold still for three minutes but he will settle, I am sure, when he realizes his good luck:  free food, warm nest, fresh linens, no pesky dogs, no mortal hawks, and boundless love from me, his new Best Friend Forever. 

My teenage Sciurus scours my hair and hides in my sleeves.  Unlike most mammals, tree squirrels descend head-first by rotating their ankles 180 degrees, enabling hind paws to point backward, thus gripping from the opposite direction.  Eric climbs my torso, little claws prickling my skin.

I was wrong about Eric being crippled.  I’m also wrong about Eric’s capacity for finding existential happiness in a yellow bathroom.  Frantic for freedom, Eric is crawling out of his skin.

July shimmers emerald as I carry Eric into the woods.  I’m worried about his education. Will knowing how to find peanuts in a towel transfer to finding acorns in leaves?  I open the box and Eric bursts towards the oaks.

Please just once look back!  SIGH.  Never mind.  Eric’s floppy left ear will make him easy to recognize on my slow walks down the pathways and byways of Lincoln.  As I pet doggies, talk to neighbors, and honk at school bus drivers, I will be watching for Eric.