Having been given personalities and human-like intelligence, we naturally felt a certain affection for them. A neighbor reveres the little critters despite their natural tendency to burrow and chew on wires in her hot tub. In fact, chipmunks are from the Order Rodentia. In case your Latin is rusty, that's Rodent.I must confess that our 1/4 acre in Atlanta has become the Killing Fields, as it must be described in the "Chipmunk Gazette." We have two cats, which having been bred for millenia to hunt are doing precisely what they were intended to do. Being domesticated, they still act like felines when they catch their prey. They bring them to the rear door for the pride. And of course, they are proud, showing off the catch, sometimes throwing it around like a football player who catches the winning pass, strutting around the end zone for their adoring fans.
This spring and early summer, it has been an especially fruitful harvest for our cats. For Stephanie and me, it has been one clean up chore after another. Of course, we realize that our particular genus of the Eastern Chipmunk mates twice: once in the spring and again in early summer, having litters of 4 or 5 chipmunks per litter. In short, this will create 8 or 10 chipmunks by next year. Multiply that by the four or five groups in our immediate area, well, you get the picture. We have cleaned up the carcasses of no less than two dozen of the little fellas so far this year. Those are the ones we've found. Some, I've found in unfortunate ways. Like the smell of those that have escaped the eye for some reason or other. The trash shovel, otherwise known as a snow shovel up North, has become a catapult for these sacrifices over the fence into the forest behind us. I only hope the scavengers back there appreciate our efforts.
Occasionally, with the door ajar, the cats will bring the catch in for closer inspection. Twice this year we've had the excitement of cats flying through the house playing with their new friends. One even spent the night behind our bookcase in our bedroom last month. With intricate maneuvers the next morning, we got the little fella out the bedroom door to freedom. We are, after all, not completely heartless. It's just a little unnerving, trying to sleep thinking that you might have Chip or Dale staring down at you from your chest at 3 o'clock in the morning.
Our neighbor across the street, the one with the hot tub, recently went on vacation and asked us to retrieve their mail. We were glad to do it. What we didn't admit is that I personally saw our grey cat prance across the street from their yard with little chippie in her jaws no less than three times during their absence. If that got out, there might be some hard feelings.
Oh well, we justify it in the knowledge that if we intervened in the natural order of things, given a year or two of unfettered procreation, we would have a chipmunk army around us. And after all, the hawks that live nearby would simply pick up the slack if the cats started concentrating on, say, bunny rabbits. Happy Hunting!
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