In bed that night, before falling asleep, Jack hears the squirrel in the attic again; tramping around in circles, bouncing on the insulation. Jack stares at the ceiling, waiting for it to leave, but realizes it cannot. He’d screwed the eaves cover over the squirrel’s only exit and it’s trapped in the attic. It runs and runs around and around until Jack enters a dream - young and energetic, breathing free in the old wilderness where the rains drown anything that doesn’t grow tall and thick. Walking along not immediately knowing what to look for; then searching for the Sasquatch. Photos had shown the creature furry and large jumping root through fern across slanted hills. There; movement through the heavy air, then running fast after the invented Sasquatch. The chase carries on for hours and hours. The sun falls quick out of view and at once no longer chasing anything at all. Now, following bushwhacked trails toward an envisaged home and stumbling upon a shack that must have grown right out of a rotten tree-trunk. Before stepping in, looking out to see any sign of the Sasquatch jumping unencumbered through the backcountry. Jack wonders what he would have done if he had caught up to the Sasquatch. The Sasquatch would have been too large to hold or to trap, he knows. He couldn’t possibly make it stay put. If it was possible to be close enough to stand in its shadow, to smell its twig-ridden fur, he would only pluck a hair from its arm. He’d bring the plucked hair home in an envelope to save until the day someone asked if he’d ever run into the Sasquatch tramping through those trees all those years ago. But, he knows no one would ask that sort of ridiculous question; the envelope would lie under a fine layer of dust in a dresser-drawer somewhere.

Later in the night, there is a small commotion in the attic. Toby has gotten back into the house and is now stuck with the squirrel. The animals roll around and around and bump through the boxes. One box topples and Marie wakes with a start. Without looking at the clock, she rubs her eyes and stumbles into the bathroom. Water splashes and her music plays as loud as the speaker allows. The two animals continue to tussle in the attic - boxes drop and fall and spill onto the floor. Picture-frames crash onto the hardwood, the seams of old blankets rip, and a tall metal coat-hanger is felled with a big thud. Jack puts his face into his pillow, hoping one of the screws is loose and the animals can go on back to the wilderness. But he remembers the force with which he drove the phillips-head into the wood, having turned each screw by hand. The ocean could swell up tomorrow, swallow the house whole, and while tearing it apart in a brackish swirl, the eaves cover would still be attached. Feeling that sudden need for fresh air, Jack crawls out of bed. He reaches out the window toward the squirrel’s previous home and a breeze wraps his fore-arms. The breeze has sewn together the fence with the trees and the hillside and the hillside with the beach and on the beach the logs and rocks and shells with the saltwater and receding tide and all that with the cold sky.