Cedric
Andrea Harwood

The living room at my mom's house feels like a cozy nest.  Books line the shelves, homemade needlepoints grace the walls, and each piece of furniture feels cozy and relaxing.  There are great big picture windows that look out on the canopies of trees that ring her property.  Bird feeders of all shapes and sizes hang from the limbs closest to her windows.  Chickadees and towhees peck at the black oiled sunflower seeds.  Squirrels race along the tree limbs, often stopping at the bird feeders to see if they can get a quick snack. Deer and raccoon visit the backyard daily, keeping the perennials well trimmed, and rosebushes flowerless.  Yet, all animals, great and small, are continually watched over and admired from the living room windows.  There is never a dull minute in this quiet, cozy spot, because nature is always just on the other side of the glass.

This is where the story of Cedric begins.  Cedric was an interloper.  He sported a long hairless tail, pointy ears, and a brown hairy midsection.  The size of which, varied greatly depending on who was looking at him.  My mom would look out the window and exclaim, "What a cute little creature. He looks a bit scrawny.  We've never had such a sweet, little mouse come visiting before."  Charles, my mother's 86 year old boyfriend, remarked, "Cedric is one smart rat.  Look at the tank on him.  No wonder you are going through so much birdseed."  Cat, the imaginatively named, striped, four footed feline of the family would gaze out the window and make a funny sound from the back of his throat sounding a bit like "acch, acch, acch."  If it wasn't such a bother, Cat just might get up and eat Cedric as a small appetizer.

My mom, Charles and Cat spent many a slow afternoon, gazing out the windows, sipping tea, reading the New York Times, and keeping an eye out for Cedric.  Cedric would periodically visit, run back and forth on the back railing, eat a snack, and sometimes leave a pungent calling card behind.  My mom would say, "He is messy.  We'll have to get out there with a scrub brush."  Charles remarked, "That sounds like a lot of bother for a rat.  Where do you keep the scrub brush?"  Cat looked on, haughtily thinking that cats never leave such bad messes.  

It is easy to hear the bells of the College of Notre Dame in my mom's living room.  Hours are greeted by the sound of the bells chiming from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m.  The bells are musical and reassuring.  They never fail to ring on time and give the town parochial charm.  One can lay on my mom's couch and let the bells inform them of the time, no other timepieces are needed.  Usually, my mom and Charles sit at the table and drink tea when the bells ring at 8:00 a.m.  At noon the bells make a glorious sound, my mom and Charles eat their sandwiches quietly together.  At 6 p.m. the bells ring in the dinner hour.  My mom and Charles clean the dinner dishes.  At 9 p.m. the last bells are heard; they say goodnight.  It is time to retire to bed with a good book.

So it was strange when an odd gnawing sound began at 10 p.m.  In fact, this was a time when all smart creatures had fallen asleep with their books tucked neatly beside them on their bedside tables.  This unexpected munching could be heard from the ceiling in the bedroom just off the back porch. It was not the delicate sound of Cat at her food dish.  It was not the melodic bells of Notre Dame. It was instead the signature sound of a rodent chewing up whatever it could find in the attic.  My mom, being a very light sleeper, heard the noise and awakened Charles.  They pondered together, "Do we have rodents?  What could they be chewing?  What are we going to do?''  "Ignore it," my mom says, "there is plenty of room here for all of God's creatures."  Charles replies, "Are you crazy? We need to call the pest company to come out before who knows what is chewed up."  It seems, my mom and Charles had wandered into a dilemma with two opposing perspectives.  A wrinkle in the peace of the house.  "What if it's Cedric?", my mom asks.  "I gave Cedric his name,"  Charles replies.  "ungrateful bastard."

During a morning later in the week, my mom and Charles quietly sipped their tea.  They gazed out the plate glass windows to see the little chickadees and towhees pecking away at the feeders.  Deer quietly munched on the newly planted clivia down below.  Off in a tall fir in the distance, a strange silhouette appeared, a bird far bigger than those usually seen in the area.  Charles pulled out the binoculars to take a look.  "Mac, take a look.  What is it, a hawk?"   "My goodness  Charles, it is a red tailed hawk,"  my mother replies.

"What an auspicious beginning to another glorious day." Charles  muses.  The day continues like most do.  A few errands are  completed. The New York Times is enjoyed.  Meals are savored.   As the bells chime at 9 p.m., Charles says, "Good night hon, hope we don't hear from Cedric tonight."  "I'm with you sweetie, I can't imagine having to snuff out Cedric."  The house was still and quiet throughout the night.

The next days passed without incident, or visits from Cedric.  In fact, Cedric never showed his pointy ears or hairless tail again.  Once in a while, the red tailed hawk comes by for a short visit.  With reverence and appreciation, my mom and Charles, follow its flight. "Raptor, at your service," my mom quietly states.  "Yes indeed."  Charles replies