The life story of a squirrel

by T. C. Bridges

I was badly frightened—there is no use denying it—but I did succeed in keeping my wits about me. In the open, of course, I was no match for her. Her springs were of tremendous length, far greater than mine, for a cat—like all her tribe—can travel at tremendous speed for a short distance. Aware of this, I turned sharp back through the hedge to my right—only just in time, for her cruel teeth snapped not an inch from my brush as I dived through the heart of the hedge. Being smaller than she, I gained a few yards in the passage through the close-set branches, and tore off across the frozen snow at top speed towards the nearest tree. There was no time to pick or choose; I had to take the first that came, and here luck was against me, for it was a tall but slender birch which happened to stand some little distance apart, the nearest tree to it being a beech some fifty feet away.

Up I went with a rush, again missing death by a sort of miracle, for my enemy launched herself at me like a shot from a catapult, striking the bark not the length of my body below my brush. She clung there a moment, and then fell back with a baffled snarl, and for a moment I thought she had given it up. But I suppose she was very hungry, or perhaps too enraged at her first failure to abandon the chase, for the next moment she drew off a few yards, and, coming at the tree with a rush, clattered up it, her sharp talons ringing against the rough bark.

Naturally my first impulse was to run out towards the beech and jump into it. Could I have done this I should have been safe, for the cat would have had to return to the ground in order to reach the beech-tree. But when I gained the outer end of the birch branch I found to my horror that the gap was full three yards—a terrible jump to risk at any time, but almost certainly fatal if I missed my footing, for before I could recover myself the hungry brute would most infallibly have leaped down upon me.

Now I was in a tight place indeed, for already the lithe, grey form of my cruel foe was stealing out along the branch to which I clung, her heavier body causing it to sway and vibrate beneath me. It seemed as though I must take the jump, and chance it. Suddenly I noticed that the cat had stopped. She was lying close along the branch, her hungry eyes glaring at me, her pink tongue slowly licking her lips. It was clear that she was afraid that if she came further the bough would not bear her weight.

This gave me a moment’s breathing-space, time to glance round and see if any other avenue of escape was open. At once I noticed another birch bough to my left, and a little higher, but still within fairly easy distance; and on the impulse I sprang, landing full upon it. At this the cat, with another blood-curdling snarl, turned quickly back towards the trunk, but before she could reach it I was off into the very topmost twigs of the birch. Here I felt sure that I was safe, at any rate for the time, for I did not believe the cat would venture so high. To my horror she set herself to follow, and, taking such risks as I never dreamed she would dare, she came slowly but stealthily on my track. All I could do was to crawl out to the thinnest tip that would bear me, cling there, and wait.

With horrible pertinacity she followed to the very top of the trunk, and, stationing herself in the last fork that would bear her, crouched there, apparently determined to wait and starve me out.

I was at my wits’ end, for there seemed no possible avenue of escape. I might remain where I was, you will say, and trust to tiring her out. True; but supposing she refused to be tired out? Remember, it was freezing hard. She could endure the cold; I could not. Sooner or later my muscles would grow numb, and I should fall either on to the ground or right into her jaws. Another thing (I may as well confess it), I was frightened—so badly frightened that this in itself was actually paralysing my powers. After a few minutes I began to feel as though some unexplainable impulse was forcing me to turn and gaze into those fierce green eyes. I had sense enough to be aware that, once I did this, it was all up. I should become fascinated, and drop right into the cruel jaws that waited so hungrily below.

Against this suicidal impulse I fought with all my might, but in spite of my best efforts it grew upon me until I began to feel that I could endure the torture no longer. It seemed as though it would be a relief to put an end to it, even if it meant ending my life at the same time. The cat seemed to know this, too, and lay below me, stretched at full length, still as the leafless branch on which she crouched.

I was actually turning; in another second I should have yielded as weakly as a miserable house mouse, when suddenly a sharp bark resounded from the beech-tree near by. The cat stirred, and for the moment I was saved.

I looked in the direction of the sound. There was Rusty only a few yards away in the beech. Cob was close behind him. Rusty cried out to me sharply: