It's been such a lovely late fall where I live that I've been taking daily strolls around my neighborhood -- kicking up leaves, chatting with neighbors, casing houses to break into later, that sort of thing. I've also been seeing an inordinate number of squirrels.
In the yard of one house I was wandering by, I counted no fewer than eight squirrels. Some of them were digging around in the leaves for, presumably, nuts. Others were chasing each other up the bole of a big oak. Still more were just standing around, staring. A couple of them were even staring at me... and I didn't really like the look in their eyes.
The city I live in is known in certain circles for its squirrels, and not because they're nice, friendly, neighborly squirrels that would loan you a cup of sugar if you popped by their trees needing some. No, they're known for being mean.
On the university campus near my house, squirrel packs have been known to descend on unsuspecting students en masse, especially if said students are walking along by themselves and not carrying heavy weaponry or trained in any of the martial arts. All that's left behind after these attacks are the occasional book bag and possibly an iPhone.
It isn't because the squirrels here are prone to contracting rabies or any other animal-specific,rage-inducing disease. No, they're just bloomin' psychotic. Given the choice between getting away scot-free with a bucketful of walnuts, or having the opportunity to decapitate a nearby pedestrian, our squirrels will always choose the latter.
We always have to be on our guard.
For instance, I've noticed lately that strange noises have begun to emanate from my hard-to-access attic. No one else is in the house, it will be eerily quiet, and then there will come an audible thudding from above. Maybe it'll even happen twice.
Presented with this situation, most people would come to the logical conclusion that the house is haunted. A haunting seems obvious, right? Especially what with the other oddities of my attic, namely that there's a bed up there despite the fact that the only way to get into the attic is either through a two-foot by two-foot trapdoor in the ceiling of my bedroom closet or through a cracked dormer window that I really ought to fix one of these days. In any case, there's certainly no way to get a bed up there, yet there it is.
Also, no matter how many times I close it, the trapdoor is always slightly ajar the next time I check it. So, yeah, most people would say, "Sure, yup, whatchu gots yerself there is a hauntin'. Them ghostses have done moved into yer house and you mights as well move or getcherself one of dem dere video cameras and make yerself a movie."
My first thought? Squirrels.
I don't know why they're up there, but it can't be for anything good; they aren't just there to enjoy the center-city lifestyle. No, they're making moonshine, or cooking meth, or storing guns, or holding illegal high-stakes poker games. I don't know, and I'm too chicken to go up there to find out, 'cause if I do, the first thing through that trapdoor will be my eyes -- right at squirrel height.
So of course I was justifiably wary when I walked by those half dozen squirrels in that neighborhood yard. My martial arts skills are rusty, at best, and the only thing even closely resembling a weapon that I carry is my camera.
If they decided that I knew too much,well, all that'd be left would be some camera batteries and a pair of Nikes.
Wait, did I say half dozen? Looks like there's more like a dozen. Wait ... a dozen and a half. Two.
Anybody know a good haunted house I could move into?
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Photo Caption: "His intentions can't be good."
