Sometimes, I don’t have much to write about. Today is one of those days, so I am pulling one from the archives. Here’s a funny story:
Once upon a time, when Matt and I lived in our last apartment, we both arrived home within a few minutes of each other. We stood in the living room for a few minutes while deciding what we wanted for dinner. Then we proceeded to the kitchen to make the agreed upon dinner.
Once we got to the kitchen, I noticed that the pan of brownies that I had made the day before (sitting on the stove with saran wrap over them) had a big hole in the middle. First I accused Matt of eating them (which was admittedly a little silly because he is definitely smart enough not to just eat a big hole in the middle of the pan). Then I determined that we must have a mouse. Damn, I thought, we have never had a mouse in this place and I hate those little fuckers and I want them to go away. I had just resigned myself to going to the store to get some mousetraps when Matt looked towards the other end of the kitchen.
“Ummm,” he said.
“You might want to leave the room,” he continued.
And then he finished with, “Because it wasn’t a mouse.”
I followed his gaze to the end of the counter, and there, sitting calmly on my kitchen counter, was…
A HUGE, FAT, GRAY, SQUIRREL.
We have no idea how it got in. No open windows, no open doors, our apartment was the 2nd and 3rd floors, and we couldn’t find any holes in walls, floors, ceilings, closets, cabinets, ETC, ETC, ETC.
It was a magic squirrel, sent by its squirrel brethren to torment me. Because squirrels? Are out to get me. Seriously.
It started in high school when I was learning to drive. I was learning to drive the car that I had just purchased, which was a stick shift. So there I was, in my neighborhood, doing the “I haven’t gotten the hang of this yet and oh shit please don’t stall! Clutch! Brake! Shit, what am I doing?” dance with my new car, when suddenly a streak of fur ran across the road, followed by a distinct thunk/crunch.
I slammed on the brakes, forgot about the clutch, stalled the car, and burst into tears. I had just killed a precious, furry little creature. Probably someone’s kitten or a helpless bunny. My father (teacher of the stick shift) got out to survey the carnage. And found…
The damn squirrel was sitting on the side of the road, and I swear he was laughing at me. We have no idea what my tires actually went over, because there was nothing on the road, but it sure as hell felt like I ran something over.
My next incident involved a squirrel throwing things out of a tree onto me at a picnic. I won’t go into details, but I was say that I was the only one who got hit.
When I moved into my last apartment, there were a large number of squirrels living on my street, in my yard, etc. But no one believed me that there was a black squirrel with red eyes. He would sit on the tree branch above my car, but only when no one else was around. I finally proved it when I took a picture, but no one else saw the living proof.
So, to make a long story short(er), a squirrel in the kitchen shoudn’t have been too much of a surprise. He was one pissed off squirrel (probably hopped up on sugar from my brownies) and it took Matt, our landlord, a broom, a ladder, and about 25 minutes to evict him.
I couldn’t make this shit up.