The vet referred us to the Humane Society where there is apparently a "squirrel rehab." We drove there with the squirrel box on my lap. He was breathing but it was hard to tell exactly what was going on with him.
We filled out squirrel paperwork at the Humane Society. I looked in the box one last time before they took him away. He had curled up in to a little ball. That didn't seem good. I was still hopeful. "We'll say a Kaddish for him just in case," said Mr. Rosenberg.
Rest easy, little guy.