Thumper

The leaves from the trees that line the path that curls its way around the back of the apartment filters a soft green light through the windows of the living room. Occasionally, a subtle crunch is heard when people walk by, and a slight breeze flows through the open screens, fluttering the drapes.

While I’m lying on the couch, watching some TV, l hear a noise outside. First there are scratching sounds, like fingernails running across a rough, plastic surface. After a few seconds, there’s a thump, like a small drum being hit. It doesn’t sound as if it’s made by humans.

A minute later, it happens again. Then again. There’s a definite pattern.

As I rise from the couch, I pull half of the drapes back and look out the window. Nothing. No one is walking around, no one is playing a joke or looking into the apartment.

Lying back down on the couch, I hear the same noises again. It happens two more times before I get up to look.

Nothing. No one is there. It’s making me feel a little unsettled.

When I hear the noises one more time, I pull back the drapes while lying on the couch.

From my perspective, I can see a head of a squirrel, but two seconds later, it disappears.

Now kneeling on top of the sofa, I wait to see whether it comes back. It does. It comes running along the aluminium flashing of the window sill, stops, looks inside the apartment, whacks its head against the glass, bounces off, and falls to the ground.

Thumper must be looking for Bambi.

The mystery of the sounds is solved.

The squirrel thought since the wooded area behind the apartment reflected so perfectly in my spotless windows, the wooded area continued past the glass. Unfortunately, the squirrel was wrong.

That’s the bad thing about being on the ground floor of an apartment complex: there’s bound to be a nutty stranger looking inside your place.