Zoe and the Squirrels

My first two pets as an adult were rescued kitties. Zoëwas a tri-color/calico, long-haired tabby with gorgeous green eyes. She was rescued at the same time that Anastasia was rescued. Anastasia was a medium/long haired “ese” kitty. Picture a pure white, less gangly, Siamese with copper eyes. They were both very young and feral and I love them and miss them.

They were hilarious and I know that they are on the other side enjoying every moment in their eternal time. This story, though, isn’t funny, but it isn’t sad. The story does offer a little lesson. Or a big lesson from a little kitty with a huge personality. This story is about one of the many things about Zoë that made her so interesting; remarkable.

Zoë developed a friendship with a squirrel when we lived in a Victorian apartment in Sea Cliff, Long Island. The squirrel, a male, would attach himself to a window screen and watch Zoë on the other side. Zoë would sit on the windowsill and watch the squirrel. There were no sounds. This activity went on every day for about four hours a day, for years. I didn’t get it, but I respected it.

We moved to a wing of a mansion in Glen Cove owned by a previously political family very well-known for a stylish first lady and her very, hmmm, shall we say, interesting, family. That apartment had large glass doors that opened onto a small porch and overlooked my backyard.

This time there were several squirrels. They stayed on their side of the glass; Zoë stayed on hers. Some sort of secret, unusual communication was going on. Again. I was sure of it.

And, again, we moved. This time to a cottage in St. James, also on Long Island. Here, Zoë took her relationship with squirrels to a more inclusive level. The cottage’s back glass doors looked over a little porch where squirrels and about one million chipmunks and mice, egrets, red-tailed hawks, deer, various owls, and racoons visited.

I fed the kitties at the back door, looking out. Squirrels gathered with their lunch on the porch as Zoë relaxed into hers from inside. She dined with them every single day, until her last day.

The squirrels always cleaned up after their lunch and egrets came by later with beautiful, large shells. The group shared afternoon meals and when everyone was done, they would separate until the next day. There was no noise and no mess. They ate in apparent silence with the egrets nearby and watching, as I did on the inside. I’ve often wondered if there was a communication happening that I was not meant to hear.

But that’s Zoë. Like most kitties, she lived a very interior life filled with dreams tinged with the adventures of her ancestors. But, unlike most kitties, she made friends with creatures outside of her species in a way I had rarely seen before or since. I’m certain she is with a scurry of squirrels and a heronry of egrets. And, Anastasia.

The shells? They are with other shells in glass bowls and jars on our mantelpiece and on side tables to remind us of the water of Long Island that Zoë and Anastasia and I always called home. They are also there to remind me of my beloved Zoë and that, if she could become friends with squirrels and egrets, well, anything is possible.