My name is O’Malley—Boots to the family I adopted when they moved into the military quarters at Ft. Totten, New York, that had been my family’s ancestral home for many generations. This is the story of one of our many adventures together.
It was the Friday after Thanksgiving, and Dad had convinced Mom to take the children into New York City to see Santa Claus. I was left alone for the day, which suited me just fine until an uninvited Christmas guest fell three stories down the chimney of the living room fireplace. It was a young, frightened and very sooty squirrel that the family later named Christopher. Since he was such a young one, I watched quietly as he ate the popcorn garlands off the artificial tree that the children has insisted be put up on Thanksgiving, chewed the corners of several packages under the tree, and generally tracked soot over most of the first floor of the quarters. As the man of the house, I then took action against the thoughtless little intruder.
In the spirit of the season, no squirrels were harmed during my writing of this book, but I did scare the little fellow. When my family returned, at first they thought I was the culprit, but then I became the family hero.