A Muskrat Arrives

 

This winter we have had a multitude of evenings that, just as the darkness begins to close in and become intense, the snow comes whirling down, the flakes huge and dense, piling snow drift on snow drift.. Obviously, we know, it is the time to be inside, make sure the house is as warm as it can be, and, if possible – go to bed. However, just at that time of the evening, at a nursing home just outside of Huntsville, as the last of the dishes were dried and being put away, a scratch at the kitchen door.

 

The dog is inside and asleep. The cat is inside and asleep. But there is a definite, emphatic scratch - “Let me in. It’s cold out here.”

 

Not spoken in English. Of course. In muskrat.

 

The woman who opened the door had had nothing to do with muskrats. Not in her entire life. Most people would know that there might be muskrats in a pond across the road and down a little hill – but on her back porch, on a snowy winter evening...?

 

Being a good woman, she let it in. She found a solid cardboard box, some towels, and, wrapping it carefully, picked the muskrat up and put it in the box and tightly closed the lid. Then she phoned Aspen Valley.

 

As further evidence of her goodness she hadn’t said, “It’s only a muskrat.“ nor had she been afraid of it – and, taking all possible care, she tried to help it She called a friend to drive with her, and through the whirling snow they drove down the twists and turns and hills of Muskoka Three, to Crawford street and Aspen Valley. Lights on, Jai was waiting for her.

 

The muskrat was young, but not a baby. Why it was not in its lodge, why it had wandered out, we will never know...perhaps disturbed by a hunting wolf, trying to dig it – perhaps its nest crushed by the heavy snow...perhaps.... And why did it go to the back door of the nursing home. They had not raised it...but they were good people. (Perhaps God knew them?).

 

Muskrats are fascinating little creatures – often mistaken for very small beavers, until the tail is evident. Their tail is fat and furry. If not like a beaver, perhaps like a very round squirrel...but not quite that, either. The tail is not quite fat or furry enough...a muskrat is a muskrat. And exactly like itself.

 

Jai took it to the nursery out in the barn, made it a small warm kennel, left it with water and a meaty cat food. And there it still lives. It is quiet, content, and, like all the rest of us, waiting for spring. Then it will go free.

 

And we will never never know the mystery of why it came scatching at that particular door.