Somewhere, deep in his genetic memory, the dead squirrel realized that getting his tongue bit should have hurt. He did feel it, but the pain receptors in his tongue (as well as the rest of his decaying body) were long dead. Something like blood, or maybe it was sap from the willows inside him, spurted from his wound. He waggled the extra long tongue in a show of defiance and spitefulness. The black furred squirrel had avoided him for the moment, but there was nothing she could do now that he had her scent! A creepy, lopsided grin plastered the possessed rodent’s face. He looked down and saw two nuts! A giggle, like something out of a severed porcelain doll head, emanated from his form. Eyes that saw nothing looked about, hunting for a new target for his machinations of corruption.
A cat had entered the fray! The giggle oozed out of him again. It was one he was sure he recognized from stories and tales. Perhaps he could use this new threat to his advantage. He bounded down the tree he was in, stuffing the nuts into the gaping, bloodless hole in his side and crept up on her. The innocent thing looked like she was asleep. He pulled one of the nuts (he didn’t care or know what kind they were) and placed it beside her. It was already beginning to blacken and warp from his corruption. The shape was beginning to change from round to sickle shaped. He was pleased.
Now, it was time to reacquire his target, the black furred squirrel. He wanted that coat! Whether he was going to pull it off her or merely insert himself into her form and expel her consciousness he was not sure yet. He’d lost her momentarily, but it was a mere inconvenience. He’d find her soon enough.