My mother fed the squirrels left-overs: scraps of bacon rind, apple peelings, and the skins of grilled tomatoes that my father left on his plate. The squirrels would only go to her – sitting in the palm of her hand to eat. She named them, worried about them, loved them, more than her own child.
The investigating officer thought the fire had started in the attic. ‘The electrical cables were probably gnawed through,’ he said, putting his hand over mine.
‘Squirrels?’ I asked.
‘I’m afraid so.’
As he completed his report I bit my cheek hard and right on cue, the tears flowed.
A Friday Fictioneers 100-word (or so) story inspired by the picture supplied by Ted Strutz. Friday Fictioneers is organised and run by the wonderful Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Click here to join in, and here to read other pieces. I’d love to know what you think of mine – please leave a comment!
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