Monday, 12 September 2005 | Squirrel nurse

Sandra and I were having dinner in Curly's when she gestured to the couple sitting a few tables away. "That's odd," she said, referring to the miniature bottle sitting in the space between them. It was the size of nail polish and was filled with milk.

We were watching, a few minutes later, as the man pull a live squirrel out of a small canvas bag he'd been wearing across his shoulder since he'd arrived. As soon as he parted the zipper, a nervous brown face popped out, the creature dutifully grabbed the rubber teat with its tiny front paws, and it sucked as liquid dribbled down its face.

The other patrons took notice, and began asking the obvious questions, even questions with obvious answers. "Is that a squirrel? Explain!" I kept quiet and mooched off the inquisition, passively enjoying the conversation from a few feet away.

He mentioned that, in New York City, squirrels have the same rights as rats and roaches, and that no vet is legally allowed to help an injured squirrel. He personally nurses them back to health, he said, but that he doesn't re-release them. "They make really good pets," he told a skeptical audience. He then pointed to the vacant spot on the squirrel's hind quarters. "This one's three-legged. See?"

He told us that the tripod squirrel was destined for France, as someone in Paris had apparently heard about its plight, and wanted it so badly that she was willing to pay airfare. The man's friend, a bookish woman with a bold print jacket, spoke up. "It would ride in someone's coat pocket. You know, on the plane," she explained. She then reached in the man's bag, grabbed a second squirrel, and began rubbing noses with it.

A waitress asked to hold the injured one, and it shook inside of her fingers, which reached all the way around the squirrel's sleek body. The woman advised the waitress to be sure to wash her hands afterward, and the man dismissed her. "It's clean," he assured the waitress.

When their food arrived, the man zipped the squirrels away again, and the restaurant chatter died down.