Wolfgang was now fully in the throes of the bloodlust. He had his prey and he would have his kill. Whipping his head back and forth as violently as he was would surely have snapped the squirrel’s neck if his bite had landed anywhere other than the tail. As it turns out, the rodent’s sparse little embarrassment of an appendage saved his life. One last vigorous thrust resulted in the squirrel flying through the air; Wolfgang left staring wide-eyed with a shock of dirty grey fur hanging out of his mouth.

I looked on in disbelief as the creature sailed over my head like an oppositely-proportioned reenactment of that scene from Free Willy where the whale leaps over the little boy. The squirrel covered a good twenty feet before coming within tiny arm’s reach of a very thin tree branch. Just catching the wood by a claw’s length, he executed a flawless Salto and flew over to a thicker branch nearer the trunk. Really stuck the landing too. I swung around to find Wolfgang at the edge of the truck bed contemplating the relatively significant jump down to street level. Doing my sore back no favors, I shouldered the load once more and lowered him to the pavement. We both raced over to the tree the squirrel had landed upon and scanned the branches for signs of the enemy. There was some rustling of leaves but we couldn’t spot him. The two of us slopped around the park for some time, wading through the mud and craning our necks up into the rain, searching the treetops in vain. He had gotten away again.

Wolfgang and I trudged back to the nearly empty apartment covered in mud – and shame. The baseball-sized lump rising from the side of my head was beginning to throb and I was in no mood to explain the whole thing to the Mrs. After our previous misadventures it wasn’t necessary anyway. She just shook her head and took the boy into the bedroom where a changing table was the only significant piece of furniture left in the place. The movers kept up a frantic pace until the truck was loaded to bursting with all our worldly possessions and ready to set out for our new home.

Somehow all the movers managed to crowd into the cab of the truck, and I loaded the family into our car to lead the way to our new address. Mother and son were in the back seat; Wolfgang as usual filling the entire rear cargo area. With one last wistful glance at our old home I pulled away from the curb, eager to put all our frustrations behind us and start a new chapter. I hadn’t gone ten feet when I noticed something in the road ahead of us. At first I couldn’t make it out clearly, but as we rolled closer I spotted a long, hairless twig behind what appeared to be a rather cocky looking rat. The tail was now broken in several places such that it resembled a filthy grey lightning bolt. Him again. A final taunt? A parting insult before his favorite pigeons left town? I wasn’t having it. I stepped on the gas and gunned the car at the little bastard.

“Omae, nani atenoka?!” my wife demanded, but I wasn’t listening. I was in the zone, I was on the hunt. The squirrel seemed to understand that our significant advantage in speed was offset by the fact that we were restricted to the paved roads. He cut across a sidewalk and onto a street running perpendicular to the one we were on. Without bothering to look for oncoming traffic, I did my best Dukes of Hazard and fishtailed onto that road. He wasn’t getting away this time. Not this time. Working the angles again, the squirrel dashed diagonally across another sidewalk and ran into the middle of another adjoining road. Well, he wasn’t the only one who could play that game. I hopped the curb and cut across onto the road right behind him. Later my wife would tell me how she watched out the rear window as the moving van struggled to keep up with us, more than once tilting on two wheels and threatening to capsize completely. One of the movers was hanging out of the passenger side window of the cab screaming something in Russian. Even if I had been able to understand what he was saying I wouldn’t have heard him in the heat of the moment. Wolfgang was draped over the back seat, one paw on each side of the baby’s head, and he howled his encouragement as my wife voiced her protest. The baby didn’t seem bothered by any of it. The road we were on now was long and straight, and if the squirrel tried to break off to one side I was prepared to throw the car into park and set out after him on foot. My plan might have worked out if I hadn’t been distracted by the siren and flashing blue lights behind us.

I cursed as I pulled over and reached for license and registration.

From the back of the car Wolfgang whimpered.