Buggers!
Breaking into the pantry I can understand. But the office? Why the office? Why would you claw through the office window screen and knock over my bamboo and send the stack of research printouts cascading onto the floor? I mean, I know I don't clean all that diligently, but it can't smell that much like food in here.
I'm with you, Mixer. I begin to suspect a non-squirrel species. Or--and the mauled Pop-Tarts would support this hypothesis--a squirrel novelist. He's hungry, he's wearing a tiny moth-eaten sweater vest, and he's out to sabotage my writing career. If the next thing to be attacked is the coffee--or the whiskey--we'll know.
But then how do I keep him away? With deadlines? With multi-person social situations? With word that the Squirrel Pulitzer has just gone to that totally undeserving bastard who wrote the meandering second-person piece of tripe from the point of view of a female squirrel and it turned out it was all flashing through her head just as she was being run over?
I have now sprinkled cayenne pepper all over the windowsills, and yes, thank you, I do feel stupid.
I'm with you, Mixer. I begin to suspect a non-squirrel species. Or--and the mauled Pop-Tarts would support this hypothesis--a squirrel novelist. He's hungry, he's wearing a tiny moth-eaten sweater vest, and he's out to sabotage my writing career. If the next thing to be attacked is the coffee--or the whiskey--we'll know.
But then how do I keep him away? With deadlines? With multi-person social situations? With word that the Squirrel Pulitzer has just gone to that totally undeserving bastard who wrote the meandering second-person piece of tripe from the point of view of a female squirrel and it turned out it was all flashing through her head just as she was being run over?
I have now sprinkled cayenne pepper all over the windowsills, and yes, thank you, I do feel stupid.