Page 60 of Enemies in Paradise

But, also, how did the squirrels get into the studio? There’s only one way they could have: she let them in. Cassie’s the only one who was here who also has opposable thumbs. Cats and squirrels can’t open doors.

Okay, maybe some can. Squirrels, that is. Cats are stupid, and I already feel my eyes swelling just standing in here.

I need backup to help me clean this place up before I have a full allergy attack. This is a job for a big sister. I dial her number, then wait through four long rings before Britta finally picks up.

“I need your help at the shop,” I say. “Actually, the studio.”

“The studio where Cassie is staying? Are we doing something to surprise her so you can prove you love her?” The excitement in her voice pricks my ego all over again.

“I’m not in love with her, and she’s definitely not in love with me,” I say more gruffly than I mean to.

A short silence follows before Britta says, “What did you do, Bear?”

“Nothing on purpose. There was some squirrel-cat drama, but it wasn’t my fault.”

“What is a squirrel-cat?” Britta asks, completely serious—I think.

“Squirrelandcat. Two different animals, not one hybrid animal experiment.” I step around the shards of glass and porcelain and open a cabinet. There’s one plate and a bowl. “I told Cassie I’d clean up the mess, though, and I don’t really know where to start.”

“Are you asking me to help because I’m a girl?” Britta says.

I huff a laugh. “Right, as if it’s ever worked to treat you different based on gender. I need your help because you’re my big … sibling. And good at details. Can you stop by the Garden and get a few plates and bowls? Glasses too?”

A few seconds of silence pass. “Yes, but only if I get the complete story of what happened when I get there,” she says with a firmness I can’t argue with.

“Fine,” I mumble.

“I’m on my way,” she says with way too much eagerness.

I end the call, then walk into the shop to find a broom and get the shop vac.

By the time Britta arrives, I’ve cleaned up most of the kitchen area and thrown the cover on the daybed into the washer in the shop. Sanitary setting. Something peed on it—I’m blaming the cat.

“Okay, spill,” Britta says as soon as she walks in and sets a stack of white dishes on the counter.

I let out a long sigh. “Help me get the squirrels out of the bathroom first.”

“Squirrels in the bathroom?” Britta’s eyebrows shoot up, along with the corners of her mouth. “That’s what that noise is? This story’s gonna be good.”

A laugh slips out, and for the first time, I see the humor in the situation.

I just hope Cassie will, too. Eventually.

Getting the squirrels back in their crate involves peanuts, patience, and quick reflexes. But nothing else gets broken.

Of course, there’s not much left for them to break. Including in the bathroom.

Half a roll of toilet paper is unrolled in the overflowing toilet, as though the squirrels used the roll like a hamster wheel, and I hope the first half of the roll isn’t what’s clogging the toilet.The handle is loose, so the squirrels may have jumped on it and flushed the toilet.

The shower curtain is torn, the soap dish is shattered on the floor, a bottle of shampoo is tipped and spilling down the shower drain. There’s makeup stuff all over, along with some squirrel droppings.

“I’ll clean up the bathroom. You take care of the curtain rod and lamp,” Britta says before scooting past me into the bathroom.

“I’ll have to plunge that toilet when you’re done in there,” I say while walking toward the shop to get a drill. “I just hope the pipes aren’t clogged.”

Two hours.

That’s what it takes to clean a five hundred square foot studio apartment after two squirrels and a cat have had their way with it. Half that time is spent undoing the damage they’ve done to the toilet. I don’t have my plumber’s bag with my snaking tool and wrenches, so I plan to come back later to really check that the pipes are okay. The sounds they make when I run the water or flush the toilet worry me.

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