It is the peculiar nature of squirrels that they are so cute in the abstract and creepy in person. Never so creepy as they were this morning, as I enjoyed an apple on the porch, thrilled to be child-less for one morning while the kids were enjoying a sleepover with their aunt in the suburbs.
From beneath the porch came loud click. Too loud. Like only a human or a wildebeast could make that loud of a click. But even if a deranged stranger emerged from under the porch, what caused the click? Before I could imagine further, a deranged squirrel emerged from under the porch and jumped to the second step, sending my heart skidding to my throat. Worse, a second squirrel popped right behind, both eyeing me angrily and emitting that creepy crow-like squawking they usual reserve for throwing things out of trees.
They took off toward the street and were joined by two more squirrels, also squawking. The four of them bounded across the yards horrifyingly rat-like, like bunnies from a horror movie, a melange of The Birds and the final scene of 1984 when Wilson is threatened with a cage of rats strapped to his face.
Two more squirrels joined the pack, the bleating deafening as they wrapped themselves in a wriggling ball like a knot of snakes. This is where one needs a shotgun. My partner was safely ensconced at Target. Had she been at Wal-Mart, I would have texted her to pick up a gun. No other human was on the street, perhaps knowing something I didn't, and I beat a quick retreat into the safety of my house where I shall now continue working on my novel.
