Hey, squirrel. Yeah, you. Listen here, you fluffy tailed motherfucker. We are in a pandemic. Pan. Demic. I realize you’re flitting around living your squirrel life with literally zero risk of developing the ‘rona, but the rest of us have been sitting in our houses for months, scared as fucked.
Up until this morning, one of the things I have relied on to keep my fragile mental health from rapidly declining is watching the birds at the feeder. Cardinals. Finches. Bluejays. And most recently, woodpeckers. All peacefully munching away all day long. Then you came along.
Look, I let a lot of your abusive behavior slide. I looked the other way as you learned to shimmy your way up and down the shepherd’s hook. I didn’t say a word when you greedily loaded your tiny paws up with sunflower seeds. I held the dog back so you’d have a sizable lead when he chased you up the tree. But today, today you took it too far.
You broke the bird feeder and now vengeance is mine.
I’m going to get a new bird feeder. You can bet your sweet squirrel ass on that one. But this time it will be different. I will come back better, faster, smarter, stronger. As God as my witness, your bitty buckteeth will never taste my millet again.
From here on out that shepherd’s hook will be greasier than two buckets of KFC chicken. Trying climbing your fat ass up that. The dog shall be released with no warning. And when his fangs sink into your sunflower seed enhanced haunches I will set up a tiny coliseum in the backyard and watch you fight for your life gladiator style.
Then, I will take your pelt as a trophy and turn your tail into a glorious Joe Exotic inspired mullet to warn all your little friend of the fate that awaits them should they repeat your fatal mistake. Oh, it is on, squirrel. It. Is. On.
*Featured image courtesy of Pixabay