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John Shore Christian Blog and Commentary

Attack of the Killer Squirrels: The End

  • John Shore
    Besides here on Crosswalk, John blogs on JohnShore.com.
  • 2007 May 16
  • Comments
So that’s when I sprayed all the squirrels with a can of mace.

Kidding!

What really happened is that I took off my shoe, and all the squirrels instantly keeled over. Then, shamelessly taking advantage of the squirrels’ temporary lack of consciousness, Cat and I tied all the squirrels’ tails together. Oh, what fun ensued as they awakened!

Well. For awhile, anyway. Then it just got gruesome.

Turns out squirrels really value their independence.

No, here’s what really happened. I started banging Cat’s shoe on the ground whilst hissing threateningly, “Go away! Bad squirrels! Bad!” This had zero impact on them, however; again, they could not take their eyes off my wife’s feet.

“It’s your toes!” I tried not to scream. “They think they’re peanuts, or something!” I looked at her toes. “I think it’s the red!” A week or so before, Cat found a movie I’d rented so boring she was reduced to painting her toe nails. “They think they’re candy peanuts!”

Mmmmmm…..candy peanuts….. .

“Then give me my shoe!” said Cat.

I did that. Which left me Without Weapon. I wasn’t trying those fur-averting sticks again.

So I stood up. That’s what I’d do in a bar if someone was threatening Cat or me. (Not that I’ve ever been in a bar. Because I haven’t. But I’ve heard they’re great places to stand up if someone is threatening you.)

Of course! Stand up! Why hadn’t I thought of that before?!

Six-foot-two, vs. five-inches. Duhr.

So stand I did.

And (after I stomped my feet and waved my arms around a bit) scatter they did.

And that was the end of it.

Actually, that so wasn’t the end of it—but I’m not sure anyone’s even reading this blorb anymore, so I figure I better move on.

Unbelievably enough, Cat showed her Entire Dysfunction as a human being the moment we were free of the killer attack squirrels.

“We’ve gotta go buy some peanuts!” she said.

“Um. Why?”

“Too feed the squirrels," she said, as if confused about how I could be so dense.

“I want a divorce. Really. Seriously. That’s it. I’m out.”

“Okay,” she said. “But first we have to feed the squirrels. C’mon! They need food!”

So—despite my best, most strident efforts to turn Cat into someone sane—we went to a nearby market, bought this huge bag of unroasted, unsalted peanuts—and then, unthinkably, returned to the scene of our own personal, mega-harrowing episode of When Animals Attack.

I don’t even want to tell you what happened when the squirrels realized we’d come back to them bearing Primo Victuals. It was like two giant ice statues coming to life and bringing buckets of water to people dying of thirst in the desert.

Really. I don’t want to tell you about what happened when we “fed” the squirrels.

Seriously. I don’t.

I’m really quite sure I don’t.