ChChChChChip and Dale

That's a cute picture isn't it? I think all sane males of a certain age had a crush on that blond girl mouse. You know what's not cute? Having all those happy and smiling faces chewing away at the insulation in your attic. I had been giving the little munchkins that dot every square inch of our backyard the benefit of the doubt:

S: Why is that squirrel climbing up on our roof?

M: Maybe he kicked a ball up there or something.


Apparently they were not just munching the six million acorns that fell from that wonderful tree that is on city property in our back yard. Yet another reason to hate the giant Ent that shades the back of our house like an annoying chaperone when you are just trying to have a nice date with this girl you met in Quest. Gail, I hope you are doing well.

In short, I hate that damn tree, and it knows it. Sometimes I stand in the guest bedroom and look out the window at the tree, and it stares back at me. It usually wins the staring contest, but I'm guessing it won't be haughty next winter when I'm burning it up in my newly installed fireplace.

S: Are you staring at the tree again?

M: Maybe.

But enough about tree. (Yeah, that's a grade A joke right there).

What I really hate is the damn squirrels in my attic. I'm guessing they are squirrels. Really, it's just the pitter patter of little feet. Perhaps S had a child without telling me and has locked it up in the basement. She looks guilty, just sleeping next to me, angrily. Anyhow, I originally discovered that we might have squirrels when I was staying home alone and doing some writing a couple of weekends ago when I thought someone was climbing around on our roof. After about an hour of hiding under the bed I determined that we probably weren't being robbed from above, and that little rodents were probably scrabbling around on the roof/in our attic. Hell, maybe it's a possum. I'm hoping that it's a goose that lays golden eggs, but we'll just have to wait and see.

So, I went upstairs with a sack of nickels and a bad attitude. However, as it turns out, attics are scary. And little scrabbling feet are even scarier. Ergo; the challenge went unmet.

S: I'm listening to them. (Scrabbling of little feet).

M: Do you want me to turn the fan and make them go away?

S: You realize that turning on the fan doesn't actually make them disappear?

M: (Turns on fan)...I think they're gone. (That's science folks).

The fact of the matter is, we're going to have to hire someone to climb up in our attic and poison the squirrels. Unless you are an animal rights type of person, in which case we're going to humanely remove the squirrels from our attic and release them into the ocean, where they can swim to their ancestral home. Or introduce them to a pillow case full of door knobs. I say that with love. I mean, we're paying all of the rent and they are pretty much doing nothing but scaring the hell out of me when I'm home alone. Don't you go taking their side in this. Just picture their little flippered feet kicking away as they make their way towards the setting sun. They have flippers right?

Exterminator: Have you tried hitten em with a sack of nickels?

M: What kind of a crude barbarian do you take me for? Avast you scurvy lad.

Exterminator: Are you talking like a pirate?

M: I don't pay you to ask questions. I pay you to climb around in my attic and kill the tiny little squirrels that I'm so damn scared of.

Exterminator: Do you want me to use live traps or poison?

M: Do you think squirrels go to squirrel heaven? with lots of acorns and free attic space? Are they monogamous in heaven or do you think they just bust a...

Exterminator: Live traps then?

M: Oh no. I definitely think all squirrels go to haven. Let's help them along the way.

If anyone would like to save us some money I'll pay you twenty bucks to crawl around in our small attic and whack at squirrels with a rolled up newspaper.

M: Do you think when I'm scrabbling around in the morning getting ready for work that the squirrels get all quiet, and put their little heads to the floor, and ask, "Do we have a damn human living in the floor below us?"

S: I'll call the exterminator.

M: I never really liked the Rescue Rangers anyway.