The Gentle Cycle

This was by no means a typical Sunday afternoon; confusion, panic, and grief set in as I tried to handle a situation so strange, that there exists no parallel to describe it.

This particular Sunday had not begun with my usual coffee and morning news routine. I had returned home sometime early afternoon from a festival of sorts where I’d spent the weekend camping. As the afternoon went on, I unpacked my gear and started a load of laundry.

I have an older model washing machine and it isn’t very quiet, so when I heard the machine rumble to a halt after its last spin in the cycle, I knew it was dryer time. As I am pulling my clothing from the washing machine into the dryer like a long conveyer belt, I suddenly froze in a state of panic and confusion. I quickly retracted my hand and arm from the machine and ran into the adjoining kitchen — I took a deep breath thinking “did I just feel something furry in the washing machine?” I was pretty sure I felt something furry in the washing machine.

At first, I tried to tell myself it was probably just a piece of fur clothing from the festival; after all, it was a music and art event and faux fur was the high fashion at the time. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, upon further inspection, I discovered that there was indeed fur in my washing machine — animal fur.

No one likes to deal with dead things, especially me. On any other Sunday, I would have been able to call upon one of the three close friends in the neighborhood; however, they were all together on a weekend trip to Las Vegas. I was forced to handle it myself.

By this time I had uncovered the species of the deceased, Rodentia Sciuridae — squirrel. I’m going to assume that I left the lid open to the washing machine and a squirrel had made its way into the garage and somehow ended up in there. What was puzzling though, was whether or not the poor fellow was alive or dead at the time I started the cycle. If he was alive I certainly would have seen or heard him when I loaded my laundry, and if he was dead I most likely would have noticed an odor as I piled dirty clothes on top of his lifeless body. My only theory was that he had to have either died in the machine right before I started the wash not producing a smell, or, he was so scared that he was paralyzed in fear, as I, not noticing him, stuffed the machine to capacity. All I could hope for was that he met his fate before the water and detergent could have taken him out.

It was a process getting this little guy out of the washer. I’d gathered up a bunch of trash bags and I planned to cover his body in the bags and then lift him out without actually having to directly touch the body, this proved unsuccessful. The squirrel, like the clothing in the machine, was wrapped around the center stem that moves around to agitate the clothing. Have you ever had a scarf or something stuck in there and struggled to get it out? It was something like that.

The only way I could dislodge the body was to grab him and pull with all my might. So I proceeded to wrap him up the clothing that was surrounding him, pull him out then placed him and some of the clothing into one of the trash bags I had on hand; as I lifted the poor lifeless creature out of the washing machine I could feel all the bones in his body gently snapping and breaking as I finally got him out.

The squirrel ended up in the bag with a bunch of my clothes; some of them I was sad to see go, like my pricey Mountain Hardwear fleece which I had recently purchased from REI. Losing the clothing, however, was a small price to pay for the peace of mind knowing that there was no longer a squirrel in my washing machine. I took all the remaining clothes out of the machine, ran a couple of hot water bleach cycles, and then washed and dried my clothes again.

I thought about this incident for a few days, still bewildered as to how this could have come about. I certainly don’t leave the lid open to my washer anymore and double-check before I throw a load in. I also think about that poor little squirrel and what could possibly have transpired to lead him to such a curious unsolved death.

I ended up tightly tying the trash bag and then placing that bag in two more; I threw it in the big garbage can. Later I felt bad thinking I should have given it some kind of special burial but my common sense told me that at the time I really just wanted it gone and the whole thing to be over with. I still wonder how he got in there and how he actually died, I think about his little bones breaking as I pulled him out. I think about how his body was still intact and not ripped to pieces by my ancient washing machine, thank goodness my old machine was stuck on the gentle cycle.