This is Ria.
Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People.
I've turned off my email notifications, so we will not have any interruptions.
Hey, where's that water coming from?
Huh.
It looks like there might be a leak in my studio.
I cannot have a leak in my studio.
What about my cactus collection?
The cactuses could get overwatered.
It would be a disaster.
Plus, my microphone could stop working, which would present a challenge.
Wait a second.
It hasn't rained in weeks.
How could there be a leak?
Ugh, give me a minute.
I need to climb up my ladder to investigate.
I'll be right back.
Ouch.
Okay, so the good news is there's no leak.
The bad news is the studio spiders have decided to use an eyedropper to get my attention.
Don't worry, I confiscated it right before I fell off my ladder and landed on my cactus collection.
I should probably move them.
Doesn't really make sense to have 17 cactuses just sitting on the floor in the middle of my studio.
But that can wait.
We have a story to get to.
It's called Squirrel's New Home.
Take it away, Harper Grace.
Remember, there are no pictures.
You have to imagine them in your mind.
You can imagine them however you want.
Okay, here we go.
Squirrel shifted in his little nest of leaves.
He was in the midst of a troubling dream.
Squirrel, you shall remain here for the rest of your natural life, said a voice.
It was the voice of his tree, who didn't typically speak to him outside of dreams.
You will spend every day and night fixing All of the problems I decide to gift to you.
I don't want your gifts.
Termites.
No.
Mildew.
Don't do it.
There will be rains.
So many rains.
And with each rain, 12% of the water will drip down into your little house.
Squirrel felt a drop of water hit his nose, and he sat up in bed, panting.
Not 12%, he said aloud in the dark.
He felt relief wash over him when he realized it was a dream.
He felt another drop of water and remembered it had rained earlier.
His tree was leaking. as usual.
His big eyes blinked in the dark and settled on his suitcase.
He remembered what day it was.
Squirrel leapt out of bed.
The dream tree was wrong.
He would not remain in this sad tree for even one more day.
It was moving day.
Squirrel collected the items he'd packed.
His suitcase, a basket of acorns, a pouch containing his fur comb, his nail clipper and some other essentials.
That was it.
Squirrel scampered out of his tree before there was even a hint of dawn.
He stood on the ground, staring up at it.
Goodbye, termites, he whispered.
Goodbye Gordon, with your loud pet flea, he said, referring to his neighbor whose flea played the French horn at all hours of the night.
Goodbye.
Just then, as if the tree were listening, a branch cracked off and plummeted to the ground several feet away.
Goodbye, tree, Squirrel said.
He scampered off into the forest, feeling a new sense of possibility.
Squirrel arrived at his new tree an hour later.
Unlike the tree he'd just left, this one was young.
Squirrel thought back to when he'd toured it with a ferret who wore a sleek turquoise scarf and shimmery bracelets.
Old trees can be charming, of course, she'd said as she led him up the trunk.
They're distinguished.
They have character.
They sometimes have gnarled sections.
Those are very desirable, of course.
But the truth is, there are often problems lurking beneath the august exterior.
Squirrel nodded knowingly.
He and the ferret balanced on a beautiful branch that overlooked the forest.
It had a view of the lake.
Squirrel stared out from the lofty perch and felt his breath catch.
Now this tree, we've observed it since it was a sapling.
It's just about ready to house permanent residents.
If you'll sign on the dotted line, it's all yours.
Of course, if you'd rather stay in your elder tree with its... What did you say?
Uh, termites?
Well, that's completely up to you.
We're not pushy here at a tree for the... How much did you say it was?
The ferret pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and peeked at her nose.
When she shared the price with Squirrel, he felt as if he might faint.
He steadied himself.
It would be a long way down from the branch.
The ferret prattled on as Squirrel's mind swam.
And of course, our trees are well insulated.
You wouldn't even hear a French horn blaring from next door.
And did I mention that... Did you say French horn?
Squirrel's mind went to his neighbor Gordon's pet flea.
He didn't think he could take one more day of that incessant Yes, or a tuba, or a trombone, or one of those beastly mandolins, of course.
You wouldn't hear a... I'll take it, Squirrel said, and scribbled his name on the dotted line.
Now...
Squirrel stood at the foot of his new tree, staring up at its lovely branches.
He felt as though he were staring up at his new life, so pristine.
Squirrel hugged the tree.
He literally hugged it.
It was an ineffectual hug, for a couple of reasons.
One.
The tree didn't know it was being hugged, so could not in fact benefit from the affection, nor could it reciprocate.
And two, Squirrel's little arms could not fit around the trunk of an enormous tree.
Still, it was sweet.
Squirrel did not know what to do with the gratitude brimming in his chest.
He stood there, embracing his new home, until he glimpsed the sun rising above the tree line.
The deep, gray blanket of night lifted away from the forest.
It was moving day.
Squirrel laughed at himself.
Standing there as if he had nowhere to be, he scurried up to his new home.
Over the next few days, Squirrel felt everything more.
Each touch of his paw against the grain of the walls, each glimpse off the broad branch that gave a view of the lake.
Every time an unfamiliar bird song pricked his ears, felt electric.
It was as if he had a buzzing energy flowing through him, from the tuft of fur between his ears to the tip of his tail.
Three days after Squirrel moved in, it rained hard again.
Inside his well-crafted home, Squirrel was oblivious.
He slept through the rainstorm and only discovered it had happened the next day when he climbed down to look for food and spied dozens of puddles shimmering in the morning sun.
In those first few days, Squirrel kept having to remind himself that he wasn't just visiting this lovely new place.
He really lived there.
There was just one thing missing.
Every time Squirrel had imagined himself in his new tree in his new life, he had friends surrounding him, neighbors dropping by for a cup of dandelion tea or to borrow a tool.
An exhilarating thought entered Squirrel's mind.
He would host a housewarming party.
He'd invite all the neighbors.
He'd do it soon.
Next week, yes, everything was coming together.
On Squirrel's fifth day in his new home, He was putting some finishing touches on a bed frame he'd built when he heard a woodpecker.
No, wait.
It was not a woodpecker.
It was a hammer.
Someone was working.
A neighbor.
Squirrel felt excitement bloom within him.
He poked his head out his little door.
There, on the very next tree... was a neighbor squirrel hard at work.
Squirrel scampered down and approached the other squirrel.
Right before he opened his mouth to say hello, Squirrel stopped short.
From way up in his tree, Squirrel hadn't had a clear view of his neighbor's project.
Now that he did, he was taken aback.
The squirrel was putting the finishing touches on a magnificent spiral staircase that stretched from the forest floor all the way up to the door of his little home several feet off the ground.
The staircase wound around the tree's trunk.
It was like nothing squirrel had ever seen.
Not bad, eh?
Squirrel startled upon hearing his neighbor's voice.
The neighbor was looking at him with an amused smile.
It's, it's incredible, Squirrel said.
Thank you.
Name's Tops.
"'And you are?'
"'Everyone calls me Squirrel.
You just move in?'
Topps said, glancing up at Squirrel's tree.
"'Uh, I did, yes.'
Squirrel couldn't focus on the small talk.
His eyes roved over the spiral staircase, taking in its gentle upward slope.
The subtle carvings in the wood,
"'You're welcome to take a closer look,' Topps said.'
Squirrel scampered over, and together they walked up the stairs.
As they went, Tops told Squirrel all about the construction.
At the top of the staircase, Squirrel was feeling such warmth towards his new neighbor who had a knack for carpentry.
This was just the kind of friend Squirrel needed.
It seemed like the perfect time to invite him to a housewarming party.
I'm gonna get an acorn muffin.
You want one?
I just baked them.
That would be great.
Tops eased open the door to his little treehouse and beckoned for Squirrel to follow him inside.
Just as he did so, Squirrel said Hey, so I'm planning to host a housewarming party for all the neighbors next Saturday.
Squirrel stopped as he crossed the threshold into Tops' home.
He blinked rapidly.
A housewarming party?
Next Saturday?
Um, uh, I'll be there.
Can't wait.
But Squirrel wanted to rewind the last thirty seconds.
He wanted to take back everything he'd said.
He wanted to uninvite Tops.
Because Tops' home was, well, it was astonishing.
Squirrel's eyes went wide as he took in the paw-crafted chandelier made of walnut shells hanging elegantly in the tastefully decorated great room.
There were several hooks on the walls holding flowering plants, nestled in paw-woven baskets.
On the floor were richly embroidered rugs, clearly made from top-quality river reed.
Tops' home wasn't over-decorated or cheesily decorated.
It was tasteful and inviting.
It was perfection.
Squirrel felt his mouth go dry.
Your house is, um, it's a work in progress, Tops said.
You should see Poppy's house.
She lives two trees over.
Really nice.
Poppy's got style.
Here you go, Top said, tossing Squirrel an acorn muffin.
Just made these.
Sorry if they're a bit bland.
I ran out of nutmeg.
Squirrel bit into the muffin absentmindedly, his mind swirling.
And, of course, it was the most delicious muffin Squirrel had ever tasted.
An hour later, Squirrel scrambled up his tree, feeling foolish that he had to claw his way up there after experiencing the sophistication of Tops' spiral staircase.
He clambered onto his branch and, barely glancing at the sun setting over the lake in the distance, pushed open the door to his home.
It was worse than he'd thought.
So much worse.
Squirrel felt embarrassment threaten to swallow him up as he scanned his plain, uninspired little treehouse.
His eyes took in the lonely table in the center of the room, the gray stones that served as stools, his bed that sat unadorned in the corner.
Had the leaves always sagged like that?
Even his brand new bed frame the one he'd paw-crafted just that week looked amateurish, as if it were made by a child.
There was nothing else to look at.
That was it.
A few unremarkable pieces of furniture.
A blank wooden floor.
Squirrel imagined giving his neighbors a tour at his housewarming party.
And here is my table.
It's where I eat all my acorns.
What a flat table, Marty.
Do you see how even that table is?
Very level, squirrel.
And this is my bed.
I sleep there.
Self-functional.
I bet you can really get some shut-eye in that bed.
And this is my living room.
I'm going for minimalist decor.
Well, you nailed it, squirrel.
I love how there are no visual distractions.
It really lets your brain think.
Squirrel shuddered at the thought.
He'd have to tell Tops he was pushing back the party.
There was no way he could be ready to have guests over in a week.
The next morning, Squirrel scurried down from his tree feeling hopeful.
The sun was hidden by the tree canopy above, but it sent shafts of light down through the forest.
Once Squirrel told Tops he was pushing back his party, he would be able to enjoy the rest of his day and continue settling into his new home.
Squirrel had a smile on his face as he scampered across the forest floor towards Tops, who was already up and working on something on the upper end of his spiral staircase.
Squirrel was about to take his first paw step onto the bottom step when he heard You must be Squirrel.
Squirrel turned to see a small, bespectacled chipmunk staring up at him with a broad grin.
I am.
Yes.
Hello.
I'm your neighbor in that tree over there, the chipmunk said, pointing to a poplar.
I'm Poppy.
Oh, great to meet you, Poppy, Squirrel said, wondering why the name Poppy sounded so familiar.
Where had he heard that name before?
They exchanged some more pleasantries.
Lovely day in the forest, isn't it?
Beautiful.
Then they both seemed ready to move on.
Squirrel turned to go.
I'm sure I'll see you around soon.
Then Poppy said, And at your party, of course.
Everyone's real excited about that.
Squirrel's breath caught.
He turned to face Poppy.
My party.
Yeah, Tops told us all about it, Poppy said, glancing up the long winding staircase to where Tops crouched.
Working on something.
Tops told you about the party?
Like I said, everyone's real excited.
Everyone is, huh?
A whole crowd of us were headed out for a morning walk.
I'm the leader of the local walking and talking club.
You should join.
It's a lovely way to begin each day, in my opinion.
Anyway, we ran into Tops and he told us about your party next week.
Squirrel gulped.
Gulp?
A crowd of you?
What is that, like three?
Squirrel felt as though his tongue were layered in burlap.
Huh, I think there was about four?
No, thirty-seven of us?
Yeah, so you don't have to worry about sending out formal invites.
Thirty-seven?
Squirrel thought of the two stone stools in his home. his right eye began to twitch.
His mind was ablaze with one question that repeated over and over as he stood there with a strange expression on his face blinking in the middle of the great wide forest.
What do I do?
What do I do?
What do I... Oh, I'm late for my memoir writing workshop, Poppy said, looking at her wristwatch.
She smiled at Squirrel and turned to go.
See you Saturday.
Uh, yeah.
Squirrel suddenly remembered why Poppy's name sounded familiar.
You should see Poppy's house.
She lives two trees over.
Really nice.
Poppy's got style.
Squirrel watched her scamper through the trees.
He felt a sense of doom settle in his tummy.
Squirrel didn't get a wink of sleep for the next three days.
How could he when at least 37 forest creatures would be coming over in a week's time?
The only way forward was to get to work.
Squirrel sewed acorn-shaped cushions, but he was an inexperienced sewer so the stitches came out crooked.
He spent hours weaving a rug from reeds he found by the river, but he was rushing so of course it looked nothing like Tops' rug.
Squirrel scampered over to the local pottery shop run by a kindly muskrat, and purchased several inexpensive vases.
They're very fragile.
Don't let your pet crickets play on them.
Yep, okay, thanks.
He ran to the meadow and gathered up as many wildflowers as he could and placed them artfully, he hoped, in the vases.
After the third day of constant work and zero sleep, Squirrel looked around to assess his progress.
It was still not good enough.
Everything looked so plain.
There was no pizzazz.
I need a chandelier, Squirrel said to himself, thinking of the exquisite one he'd seen in Tops' home.
He dashed through the forest, collecting walnuts.
Using every ounce of energy to keep his eyes open, Squirrel created a circular hoop using slender strips of young wood.
Then added loops of walnut shells strung together with twine.
As his chandelier came together, Squirrel felt the clump of doom in his tummy begin to break apart.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
The party would be lovely.
On Friday evening, the night before Squirrel's housewarming party, a thunderstorm rumbled through the woods.
Inside his new house, Squirrel was safe and warm.
He could barely hear the thunder, so well insulated were his walls.
Squirrel had not slept in about five days. and a happy delirium had set in.
He didn't even feel tired.
He couldn't believe how much he'd accomplished in such a short time.
He looked around his treehouse and felt genuinely excited to have his neighbors attend his party.
All he had to do was place his beautiful paw-crafted walnut shell chandelier on a hook he'd installed on the ceiling.
Once he did that, everything would be ready.
It wouldn't be like Tops' house, but it might come close.
Squirrel retrieved his ladder from the closet and extended it beneath the hook.
He grasped the chandelier and stepped up the ladder.
He reached out his little paw guiding the loop at the top of the chandelier to the hook on the ceiling.
Just as Squirrel was about to slip the loop over the hook, there was a great clap of thunder outside and the entire tree shook.
Startled, Squirrel opened his paw.
The chandelier cracked To the floor, walnut shells went flying in all directions.
No!
Squirrel scampered down the ladder and darted around grabbing pieces of his chandelier, thinking somehow he could put it back together.
As he rushed around, he stepped on a rounded walnut shell and slipped, falling backwards into one of his new vases.
Squirrel had placed the vases all in a row and when the first one toppled, it knocked against the next, which knocked against the third, which knocked against the fourth.
All four vases fell off the shelf onto the floor, breaking. into shards.
Squirrel was flat on his back, staring up at his chandelier-less ceiling.
His head ached from lack of sleep.
His chandelier was in shambles, his vases broken.
Squirrel's leaden limbs pinned him in place.
He didn't even try to get up.
In that moment, He surrendered.
Squirrel fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Well before dawn, Squirrel woke to the sound of someone crying outside his tree.
Squirrel blinked his eyes open, and they slowly adjusted to the darkness.
Confusion clouded Squirrel's mind, and for a few seconds he thought he was back in his old tree.
It was as if the last couple weeks had not even happened.
He glanced around and saw that he was on the floor rather than his bed, and there were walnut shells and pottery shards scattered around the room.
The previous night came rushing back.
Squirrel stood, and immediately regretted sleeping on the hard ground.
His back was sore, and his neck had a crick in it.
He stretched and yawned, then surveyed the damage.
His home was a wreck.
What was that crying sound?
Squirrel scampered to the door and eased it open.
Rain poured from the sky.
The moon was hazy above the trees, shrouded in mist.
Squirrel's eyes searched in the dark, finally finding the source of the crying.
There was a mouse, huddled with her three children.
I'm sure the rain will stop soon.
We'll be home before you know it.
The mother mouse said, her voice betraying a measure of doubt.
Squirrel glanced back at his living room, frowning.
He dashed to the closet for his broom.
He swept the floor, pushing the walnut shells and the pieces of broken vase into a corner.
He tidied the kitchen and straightened his rug.
Then he scurried outside into the rain, scrambled down from his tree and invited the family of mice inside.
Oh, thank you.
Thank you so much, the mouse said as she ushered her little ones up the tree trunk.
We're headed home from a family visit, and, well, I misjudged the weather.
Once inside, Squirrel found some blankets and the mice huddled beneath them.
The three little ones, all of them quiet and content, stared up at him with big eyes.
Thank you, said one.
Thank you very much, said the next.
The third, who'd woken Squirrel from his slumber, said, You have a beautiful home.
Those five little words, so innocent, so true, broke something apart.
Inside Squirrel's chest, he looked at the mice, now warm beneath blankets.
He looked around his treehouse, the one that hadn't leaked a drop throughout the entire storm.
It was doing its one true job, providing warmth in the cold of the night.
The mother mouse put her paws around her babies and said something that made their eyes crinkle with amusement.
Watching them enjoy the simple pleasure of being inside his cozy little home made squirrel's cheeks burn with shame.
The image of himself hugging his new tree came to him then.
The gratitude he had felt in that moment, that he'd since buried under worries and envy, returned.
How foolish he'd been.
How petty.
No more, Squirrel thought.
No more.
Squirrel had a lovely time with the family of mice.
They were entertaining, especially the littlest one who enjoyed telling anecdotes about the river camp he attended.
Last week we went canoeing and my camp counselor, Mr Penzleton he always wears a cowboy hat and anyway so he was trying to get into one of the canoes but it tipped over and everybody went splashing into the water and his cowboy hat floated down the river.
Squirrel listened. charmed by this little mouse, everything else receded into the background.
For some reason, just then, hearing this strange story was all that mattered.
Mr. Penzleton got his hat back.
It only had a couple feathers in it.
At some point, while Squirrel and his guests slept Huddled beneath blankets in the little treehouse, the rain stopped.
At dawn, the mice said their goodbyes.
Squirrel walked them out and made them promise to visit.
Thank you again.
Bye, Mr. Squirrel.
Travel safe.
The damp forest glistened in the early morning light.
Whirl watched as the mouse family scampered out of sight.
He took in the beauty of the vivid forest.
He clambered up his tree and stood on the branch outside his door.
The lake shimmered in the distance.
He went inside.
He swept up the remains of the broken vases.
He found every leftover sliver of walnut shell from his demolished chandelier.
He spent the day preparing food for the party.
He baked acorn cookies.
He set out a cheese platter with sunflower seed crackers.
He brewed dandelion tea and made fresh lemonade.
Then, still not caught up on rest, he took a nap.
Squirrel woke up to the sound of his brand new doorbell, the one he'd installed during his frenzy of home improvements.
Squirrel opened his door to find a large group of creatures balancing on his branch.
Hello, neighbor.
Howdy.
Come in, come in.
Squirrel's housewarming party was delightful.
Tops, Poppy...
And several others hung out in a circle discussing their latest home upgrades.
I'm finally getting around to installing a waterfall.
That's what I need.
A water feature.
But everyone else just chatted and enjoyed the snacks.
Squirrel, I love these acorn cookies.
You have to give me the recipe.
Please don't say it's a secret.
It's not.
I'm happy to give it to you.
No one mentioned the plainness of Squirrel's house.
No one cared.
But a crowd did form outside on the branch to watch the sun set over the lake.
Look at the colors.
It's just so, it's so beautiful.
It was.
Squirrel watched too, feeling grateful.
I will hold on to this feeling, he thought to himself.
I will not forget it again.
Ouch!
Ouch!
You know, when I mentally rehearsed my day down to the minute this morning, I didn't plan to be plucking cactus spines out of my elbow.
It just wasn't on my list of things to do.
And yet here we are.
I hope you enjoyed this story.
Little Stories for Tiny People is written, performed and produced by me, Rhea Pector.
My in-house tech director, Peter Kay, runs my website and puts my stories on the internet for all of you to enjoy.
Little Stories Premium subscribers, you are truly making it possible for me to continue creating stories for children around the world.
Thank you so much.
And thank you, as always, for listening in.
