Squirrels Gone Wild

29 Jun

There were two of them. Squirrels who were not, in fact, squirrels, but tiny spider-men in fuzzy costumes. I caught them scaling the garden wall with deep expertise, upside-down, sideways, all ways. They ripped out my hanging strawberries and unapologetically dug through the potted ferns.

“No!” I yelled through a closed window. I grabbed the predator urine spray bottle and threw open the glass door in a full speed run, sending my face into the screen door. Everyone saw. No one laughed. I knew they were laughing on the inside. But I wasted no time on my ego.

They saw me approach and scampered back up the wall and down the other side. I yelled again, something incomprehensible, and proceeded to spray the wall, the plants, and the ground in a fury. A breeze picked up and turned the urine back at my face. It tasted like peanuts, not good ones. I sprayed again. And again. Until the bottle was empty.

But I knew they would be back. Like those NYC roaches, the “squirrels” have no kryptonite. Yes, they would be back, and they would outlive us all.

Still, I regretted nothing.

 

 

 

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