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I have a cock-blocking chipmunk to rescue. And Gary is getting a timeout for sure. By which I mean he’s only getting six Temptations treaties later instead of ten. Maybe seven, if he shows remorse.
“I’m coming, Dale!” I declare, racing after Gary and Duke in the direction they took off in. I have to focus on getting the chipmunk free before Gary’s tiny, razor-sharp teeth puncture his frail, adorable little chipmunk body. Already, I can hear his pathetic little squeaks for life. I find them in the kitchen. Gary is hunched in the corner, proudly guarding his prize, while Duke watches on like his dutiful sidekick. It would be cute if he wasn’t essentially blocking my rescue mission.
“Move, Duke,” I say. “I need to save that chipmunk.”
Duke just tilts his head and raises an ear, looking confused at my request.
“Duke, this is an emergency,” I implore. “A chipmunk’s life hangs in the balance!”
I go left, and Duke moves with me, clearly thinking this is some fun game of block-the-cat. He even does a little twirl and wags his tail.
Gary watches. He’s smug as hell, just for the record.
“You’ve orchestrated this whole thing, haven’t you?” I ask, pointing at Gary.
Because what the hell? How does my cat have this dog wrapped around his paw, and I can’t even get Warren to kiss me again?
Unfair. Criminal, actually.
Also a little embarrassing.
But I don’t have time to think of any of that right now. Because there’s a chipmunk to save, and, well, Gary’s clearly not going to just put him back where he found him.
The kitchen’s woefully outdated style means there’s also a clunky old oak table that’s difficult to get around. But no matter. I just need to be stealthy. Strategic. Catch Gary unaware.
I fake left to confuse Duke and then skid across the kitchen, diving in an attempt to scoop Gary and the chipmunk off the linoleum in one fell swoop. Unfortunately, Gary’s seen through my plan—I guess it was sort of obvious—and dodges me easily. He scoots under the table, chipmunk dangling and Duke looking on in adoration.
“What are you doing?”
I look over my shoulder and find Warren behind me. I can’t really read his expression, but it’s clear that he thinks I’m insane. Which, wow, just, wow. Here I am being the best possible houseguest, trying to save a chipmunk, and this is the thanks I get.
“I’m doing what you, apparently, won’t do,” I say, blowing a stray hair out of my face. “One of us has to save that chipmunk’s life, you know.”
Warren shrugs with a glance in Gary’s direction. “I don’t think he’s hurting it. He’s just sort of… holding it in his mouth.”
I roll my eyes. “I see he’s conned you, too.”
“Who? The cat or the chipmunk?”
“It’s fine, Governor.” I huff the words out in a tone that should clearly indicate that this is not fine. “I can handle this. Even though I don’t even understand how Gary got this chipmunk—”
“I’d guess through the dog door,” Warren interrupts. “You know, the one in the door leading to the back patio.”
Dog door? Why the hell does he have a dog door?
Oh. Probably for the dog. Duke.
But—“Gary is not allowed outside!” I gasp. “He might leave me!”
I get a rise out of both eyebrows this time. Again, he starts to say something but really, I think it’s for the best that he doesn’t. Say anything.
“That’s not the point,” I say quickly, before he has the chance to respond to my low self-esteem issues in regards to my cat. “The point is, a chipmunk’s life hangs in the balance here and I can’t live with this on my conscience. I’ve got to save him.”
I drop into a non-intimidating squat and scoot as slowly as I can towards Gary. Still under the table. This is a very important part of the process. That was my mistake before. Too fast and too scary.
I will be calm. Unthreatening.
It seems to work. Gary’s eyes flit lazily to mine. His whiskers twitch. The chipmunk, poor innocent creature that he is, blinks his big, brown eyes at me.
I reach forward. I just need to pluck the chipmunk from Gary’s mouth. It’ll be easy. I’m pretty confident that the chipmunk and I have an understanding. Surely he understands I’m here to save him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Warren’s gaze dart from me to the chipmunk.
“Wait,” he says, stepping forward. “Wait. I think you should think this through.”
Pfft. Thanks for mansplaining the situation, Gov.
“Gary, make good choices. Drop the chipmunk,” I demand in my best mom voice. “I know you didn’t mean to do this. Well, you probably did, and that’s a conversation for later. But you can make this right. Just drop the chipmunk.”
“Audrey, do you know how hard it’s going to be to catch a loose chipmunk—”
