Wings Night

My children had off from school yesterday for teacher in-service meetings. So, on Tuesday night, about 20 of Noah’s friends showed up to play Manhunt in the yard. They yelled through the neighborhood until 9:30 pm and I wondered what the neighbors were thinking.

I paid them no attention, except to provide the popcorn, and just stayed upstairs watching “Dancing With the Stars.” At about 9:00 p.m., our friend Bob showed up thinking he would catch the end of the Phillies game until he had to take his son home (who was here for the Manhunt). I discovered that Bob was a Dancing virgin, so he sat down and watched Warren Sapp do the Quick Step.

There was a lot going on, with the kids running and yelling outdoors, the fierce ballroom competition on TV and the flipping of channels to keep checking the Phillies score. What happened next was completely unexpected.

As Bob, Steve, Mia and I sat mesmerized by Cloris Leachman, one of our two cats came jumping through the hole in the sliding door screen (a hole that he made to produce easy in/out access at all times). I happened to glance his direction, just in time to see that he had something in his mouth. Quickly, I alerted Steve to the situation, and my knight in shining armor jumped up to grab the cat.

Steve has lived in our town all his life, and I have lived here a few years myself, but what we saw in Bucky’s mouth was a first. I originally thought it was a bat, then a mutant chipmunk, but after closer observation (and some time on the Internet) we realized that we were in the presence of a dead Southern Flying Squirrel.

We all studied the creature with fascination and tried to recall if and when we had ever seen one anywhere. None of us could.

Steve, the mammal mafia, disposed of the body discreetly and we continued on with the evening. Parents arrived to pick up their kids and Bob eventually went home. When it was just the five of us again, still watching Lance Bass cha cha cha, the other cat jumped through the screen. Socks was also in possession of a creature, but managed to run into the living room as we all made chase.

Unbelievably, it was ANOTHER Southern Flying Squirrel and I couldn’t wait to show the boys what they had missed earlier in the evening. Until I realized that this one wasn’t dead.

The scene that followed should have been filmed, but I was far too panicked as the dear thing flew from our mantle to our dining room table, down our stairs and all over the house. J.J. was more than willing to grab it, but I was afraid he’d be bitten, so I told him that we would sacrifice Daddy to rabies instead. Mia stayed in the bedroom with the door shut, asking to be alerted when the crisis was over. Two cats, two boys, one dog and a 6’ 7” husband ran frantically through the house, ducking and bobbing, moving furniture and prodding with broom handles in a hopeless attempt to catch the scared-to-death second flying squirrel we’d seen that night. I watched and made high-pitched involuntary weenie noises.

Noah brilliantly opened all the downstairs doors, and the little guy finally found his way out, scampering across the deck to freedom.

Yesterday, I was chuckling as I remembered the whole thing, but still wondered where they came from. Out of respect, and in order to write a proper eulogy, I studied all about Southern Flying Squirrels today. Did you know:

SFS produce a high pitched vocalization above the frequency range of the human ear?

When flying, the SFS steers with its tail?

The SFS does not hibernate, but lives in close community with other SFS to keep warm in severe winter?

The SFS is profoundly nocturnal, almost never appearing when the sun is up? (which explains the fact that we have never seen one).

SFS are vegetarians?

SFS are commonly captured and bred as house pets?

They can be trained to use a toilet?

OK – so the last one is a lie, but the double visit from them on Tuesday night is not. On Wednesday night, the door was shut.