I haven't yet told you about our resident chipmunk.  Months ago when my buddy Steve was living here...actually this was almost a year ago, our dear furry feline, Trygve, decided to surprise Steve with a little chipmunk present whilst Steve was watching TV in our basement.  For hours Steve chased the chipmunk and Trygve around the basement working himself into quite a lather. (Steve, feel free to correct any of my tellings).  Finally he was able to quarantine the little bugger in his bedroom while he formalized a new strategy.  In the meantime I came home and Steve, very nervously, informed me there was a chipmunk in his bedroom.  To which I responded, "oh."  Later when Steve went to check on the status of said in house rodent, he opened his door to find the thing splayed Superman style on his window screen.  A strategically placed paper bag and a final attack landed the little varmint back on our back porch.

Fast forward to last week.  Mike and I had just come home from Colorado sleep deprived and parched.  It was early morning and Aasta and I were out cold so Mike got up to do some work before work.  While in the office our little snookims Trygve came waltzing into the kitchen with Chip... or Dale firmly in his maw.  Seconds later, right as Mike looked up, Trygve launched the lil' monster into the living room.  Mike then spent the better part of an hour chasing the chipmunk and Trygve around the living room until Trygve decided he was no longer interested, and after expounding a few well placed expletives in Trygve's direction, lost sight of the chipmunk, gave up, and finished his work.  When he re-entered the militarized zone he finally found it in the curtains whereby it ran up the curtain, onto the curtain rod and over to the other side of the room.  Trygve, reignited eventually chased it out the door.

Fast forward to this past Monday.  I was up early with Aasta enjoying the early morning calm that comes with being awake before almost everyone else.  Trygve wanted to go outside so I obligingly opened our sun room door and let him out.  Usually I close the screen after I let him out (see above).  This morning I forgot to close it right away but wasn't too worried as it usually takes him at least an hour to wake up enough to do more than stretch.  So I was playing on the floor in the sun room with Aasta when out of the corner of my eye I notice Trygve squatting under the dining room table.  Thinking nothing of it I lean back to grab one of the toys Aasta was reaching for as a flying chipmunk sails from floor to the bottom of the table, smacks against the bottom the table and lands kung foo style on his hind feet bleets a shrill screech at Trygve who in response one hands him across the floor and into the wall.  Yelling for Mike I grabbed Aasta off the floor in order to get her as far away as possible from quite possibly the stupidest chipmunk in recent history.  The chipmunk eventually made his way, though in no particular hurry, back out the door where he strategically ran up his no exit escape route, the rain gutter.  There Trygve proudly perched for the remainder of the morning. 

We are considering naming him Godot.


  1. I laughed and laughed when I read this last night. I well remember my first encounter with Chippy McMunk. Now Sara has always shown great tolerance for my wildlife-deprived suburban upbringing, but while chasing that blasted tree-rat around the basement, I was worried that she would NOT be happy to find me on the couch watching the telly, and saying, “Oh, there’s a chipmunk loose down here. Watch your feet.” After all, have you seen Squirrelly O’Falldown out in the front yard? Ick. And even if one is farm-raised (free-range kids), who wants a tree-rat loose and unsupervised in one’s house, leaving little munk-pellets everywhere? The emotional-word-picture of Mr. McMunk spread eagle on the window screen, Munk McNuggets all over the windowsill, really needs a visual to fully appreciate.

    If he is Godot, then who is waiting for him?


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