SQUIRREL!

I hear her tiny feet in the hall, "tik tik tik--tik tik tik tik"--followed by a bellowed "SQUIRREL!" I know Kibbles has found my husband at his computer and launched a squirrel assault.

I REALLY need to curb her night time wanderings. An unaccompanied squirrel can get into a lot of trouble--and I'm not really talkin about the plants I used to have--or the antique chair with chomp marks on the carved back--or the snagged window screens you notice when you look out onto the screened in porch where my darling holds court. Nor am I talking about the frequent repairs to the screen of the screened in porch--necessitated by a manic squirrel tearing around out there. I'm less concerned with the average day to day destruction than I am an assault on a power cord--or my husband, who is the epitome of patience, until squirrel nails rake his bald head or a play bite draws blood.

I proudly wear the scars of past play sessions on my hands (and a few other places that I just didn't expect--like when she charged up my pants leg). I guard my face from unexpected launches (squirrels jump from tree to tree and if you're standing in as surrogate tree, expect the unexpected). Flannel shirts and fleece jackets are draped on chairs throughout the house--squirrel gear doncha know. Squirrel poop dots most surfaces and life seems to have developed a pattern of joyous obsession with a little gray squirrel sporting a glorious fluffy tail. Oh well--there are worse things to be "nuts" about