Lately, I seem to be plagued by squirrels. I’m beginning to think it’s a plot.
I think my in-laws started it with their psycho squirrel, Ernest. He’s been around since the beginning of the summer, early May or so. Ernest apparently thinks he’s a part of the family, and has been desperately trying to secure a room in the house (hence the name Ernest - he just tries so hard). Nearly every time my mother-or-father-in-law has opened the back door of their house, Ernest is waiting on the steps. And he doesn’t run. He’s nearly succeeded in getting inside two or three times, but luckily, they’ve gotten the door shut just in time. I keep telling them they’re just pissing Ernest off, and one of these days, he’s going to get inside and lock them out, but they don’t believe me.
Now…at home. We have one tree in our front yard. It’s not a large tree, but it’s big enough for a squirrel. This is where Cappy lives. Cappy has apparently decided that it’s fun to drop stuff out of the tree when one of us is getting the mail. Why have I called him Cappy? Because I’m going to pop a cap in his arse if he doesn’t knock it off. I’ve been hit on various body parts with acorns one too many times lately. Cappy also likes to torture our cats by sitting underneath screened-in windows and staring at them. We couldn’t figure out why both cats were shoving their oversized rear-ends onto one windowsill until we realized that Cappy is finding it funny.
And lastly, at work. I’m in the front office with a view onto quite a busy street. Chubbers lives out here. I call him that because, well, he’s adorably chubby. Round belly, big round tail. I know he’s the same squirrel because of his coloring - he’s a black squirrel with a red tail, which is somewhat uncommon around here (we have black squirrels and red squirrels, and apparently, his mom and dad had an interracial relationship). Chubbers hangs out with me under my front window part of the day, and across the street at the wine store the other part of the day. I have no qualms with Chubbers except for the fact that he seems to have a death wish, and he seems bound and determined to get squashed right in front of me. My co-workers have heard me calling “Get off the street, dammit!” and “Run, Chubbers! Hurry up!” a few times lately. Luckily, we’re an office full of animal lovers, so no one thinks I’m too odd yet. However, I have a feeling Chubbers’ little life is going to come to an end someday soon, and I’m really hoping that I don’t have to witness it.
I thought about checking to see if it’s The Year of the Squirrel on the Chinese calendar.
I haven’t seen him around in a while but welby has had some threads that could help the in-laws and you with Ernest and Cappy. Chubbers is on his own however.
I think Chubbers is about to bite it. He came over to visit this morning, and I suspect he’s just waiting until I’m at lunch so that he can get run over.
Hal, is ‘squirrelly wrath’ anything like ‘sheepish indignation’?
You say you’re welcoming them, but your words betray you. I mean, the only squirrel you sound the least bit caring about is that suicidal idiot Chubbers, and I can already tell it’s because you secretly want them all dead, and Chubbers is the most likely to grant you your wish without you getting your rodent-hating hands dirty.
When Lord Munchy Nutcheeks first started hiding small burrs and pine-cone fragments in my boxer shorts while they hung on the line, I rebelled. I uselessly threw untold pounds of Warfarin and small arms fire at the problem, but in defeat I saw the festering sore of greytailed hatred in my own heart and repented. And now He, in His wisdom has taught me how mighty are the small, how wise are the humble, how seemingly crack-addled hyperactivity and wanton destruction of residential property are not mindless acts but have Meaning and Purpose that All who Know will embrace.
The infidels will get theirs, in due time. Oh yes. And now Lord Munchy Nutcheeks sits upon my mantlepiece and speaks to me a chattery opus of glory, though his silent glassy eyes stare at me now…always…no need to be sorry…you’re one of us now…
They’re so evil they’re attempting to foist their young upon us to nuture.
Two nights ago I heard a shrieking in my back yard. Scared the crap outta me. Turns out a baby squirrel had fallen from its nest. Its eyes were open and it had fur but it was petrified. We put it in a box with a snuggly blanket hoping mom would come get it but no such luck. I wanted to keep him as a pet and so did my daughter but I recently read on the dope that although youngsters are cute little pets they go crazy when older. So it was off to a wildlife rescue place for little fuzzers.
But now I understand. He would have taken over our house and forced us to cater to his squirrely whims.
