The Tail of Bob E. Magoo

Just over 2 months ago, I received a frantic call from a friend of my mother. Apparently she’d spotted a cat tangling with a squirrel in her backyard, but the squirrel was unable to get up the tree when she scared away the cat. She promptly secured the squirrel in a small pet carrier and within the hour arrived on my doorstep.

The old boy, a black-phase Eastern grey squirrel, was not in good shape. Chilled and lethargic, it was clear that he was ill and the first clue was an enormous knot of necrotic tissue about 1/3 of the way out from the base of his tail. For all intents and purposes it looked like an old bite wound had abscessed badly and the large holes in the dead tissue were literally filled with maggots. The rest of his tail was “hanging by a thread” and I thought it a bit odd it had not simply fallen off, as is normally the case since a squirrel’s tail, while important, is also expendable when losing it means the difference between life and death.

But first things first. Mr. Magoo, as he came to be called, was treated for fleas and dehydration and the tail soaked and flushed. The more stubborn maggots were pulled out one-by-one, but at last he was ready for some warm R&R and so we “put him up” in a quiet spot and I headed off to work.

As the days passed, Mr. Magoo recovered what would come to be known as his normal quiet, friendly demeanor. He was a model patient, allowing me to soak and flush his tail and taking his medicines without putting up too much of a fuss. And while I was pleased to see the wound begin to fill in with much more normal-looking flesh, I still wondered why the end showed no signs of falling off.

By the end of the first month, the healing had progressed into something decidedly abnormal. Instead of filling in and eventually smoothing out, the filling in continued to the point there was now a large knob of odd-looking, tender flesh at the site of the original wound. Time to see the vet. At first glance of those more experienced eyes, however, came a grave tentative diagnosis: cancer.

The only hope for Mr. Magoo would be to amputate his tail and without hesitation the surgery was scheduled. To everyone’s relief he came through it like a champ, earning the fuller moniker of Bob E. Magoo, and within days it was obvious he was finally feeling much, much better. While he was always glad to see us, he now seriously looked for any kind of handout like a proper, furry mercenary, and enjoyed having the underside of his chin and upper chest rubbed as he snuggled down on his soft blankets.

He was supremely happy in what I often call squirrely “retirement”, but the final decision as to whether or not to release Mr. Magoo, should he eventually decide retirement wasn’t all it first seemed to be, awaited the results of the pathology report on the root cause of his tail mass.

It was just after Labor Day when the results came back from the lab. They did an admirably thorough job of investigating every possible aspect of the mass but the results were grim. The simplistic explanation was an osteosarcoma, or bone cancer. And while the surgery had removed all of it, there was no way to know whether or not it had already metasticized so the written prognosis was “guarded”.

Mr. Magoo cared about this much less than we did. In fact, I doubt he cared about it at all. He continued to make the most of his retirement; indeed, I was planning on larger, long-term caging for him and each day provided him immune system-boosting supplements as insurance against any of the “poorly productive” cancer cells that may have found their way into his lymphatic system. But then came the dreaded signs his time with us was not going to be much longer. Though subtle at first, the insidious cancer finally had its way and like anything that functions from a position of pure greed instead of one of balance, it quickly overwhelmed his old body and he took his leave of us last night.

It is a sadness, this snuffing out of another small, bright light. As is the case with so many of the old squirrels who have come through these doors, Bob E. Magoo demonstrated again the grace of those who live in tune with Nature instead of fighting against her. It is a stretch to imagine being picked up and placed in an environment completely at odds with the one in which we have grown up and know so well, yet Magoo didn’t blink. Of course he initially questioned our intentions, but once assured squirrel was never on the menu here, he accepted what we offered and settled in to a new existence; indeed thriving, considering his condition.

This morning I feed the babies in residence, and am more than normally glad for their small, young hope-filled presence.