Oswald was a black squirrel from Hartford, with clever eyes and a constantly twitching nose. He was incredibly agile, able to leap over 10 feet between branches and across dark chasms in the night.
Completely covered in black fur, the squirrel was able to avoid dangerous birds of prey and forage during the night while other animals slept.
Griffith had seen him around the park now and again, chasing bugs through the garbage and sunbathing on the various dilapidated benches. They had never been close enough to speak, but today, as Griffith sat upon his favorite perch in the heat of the afternoon, he watched as Oswald entered the park from the Third Street sidewalk and cautiously approach the bench, holding something in his paws.
“Hi”, Griffith greeted the rodent timidly.
“Hi,” said Oswald. “I brought you a fig. It’s from the subway station.” He opened his paws and showed Griffith the piece of fruit.
“Thanks.” Griffith leaned down and gingerly picked it from Oswald, being careful not to intimidate the squirrel. He leaned back and gulped it down, eyes closed, savoring the taste. “It’s good,” he murmured.
He and Oswald eyed each other, neither speaking for some time. Finally, the squirrel continued. “Can’t fly?”
Griffith shook his head and swept his wing up. “Bad pinions straight from the egg. Never flew.”
“Nuts.” Oswald looked disappointed. “I need protection. There’s something after me.”
Griffith’s eyes widened as he realized why the smart squirrel would even ask for help. “Owl?”
Oswald nodded. “I think so. It’s been tracking me for three nights. I took him for a spin this weekend, all the way out to Central.” He gestured south. “Couldn’t shake him.”
The falcon knew the feeling. Often, he’d hid under the bench as gigantic owls and sometimes eagles circled the block, piercing the ground in search of smaller, weaker creatures. He scratched the wood with his talon and grunted. “Huh.”
The bushy-tailed rodent wiped a whisker tentatively. He looked up at Griffith, and his eyes showed a trace of excitement. “Wanna learn?”
Griffith glanced up. “Learn what?”
“How to fly. I can show you a place to practice.”
“Is it safe?” Griffith was growing worried. This whole conversation sounded really dangerous.
“Nope.” The squirrel grinned. “But it’s better than being stuck under a bench for the rest of your life.” He looked around the park and snorted.
This upset Griffith. He’d spent his whole life up to this point living in this park, under his bench. It was his home. It was safe. He said so to the squirrel. “I’d help if I could, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” He was outwardly polite, but inside the falcon was upset and annoyed.
“Look, I get it. Better safe than sorry.” Oswald shrugged and turned around. He started to make his way back to the subway stairs, but paused. “You’re built to fly. I can show you how. If you’re sick of sitting, come find me at Columbus.” The squirrel ran and disappeared into the shadows of the buildings.
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