Note: Newest entries are at the bottom of the page.

December 2002

And then there were squirrels.  You don't expect a phone call from your mother like this one...

Erin:     "Hello?"

Mom:   "Hi, are you at work?"

Erin:     "Um, yes, you called me at work, and I answered."

Mom:   "I see.  Did you happen to stop by on your way there?"

Erin:     "No mom, I drove straight from class to work.  Why?"

Mom:   "Well then, I don't suppose you know anything about the squirrel in the toilet, then."

 And so it began.  As far as we can tell, a squirrel had worked its way into the attic...and then to the skylight in the bathroom...and then, somehow, it took the plunge and ended up facedown in the porcelain pool.

 This was no ordinary squirrel, mind you.  It was a flying squirrel, a species my poor parents have had in abundance on their property for years.  Our faithful hunter-cat Mo brought them in as "gifts" for years while we kids were in school.  I even had to go so far as to bring one to school in a Zip-Loc bag to prove to all my little friends that yes, squirrels could fly, and you bet, my cat can catch one.  That poor Zip-Locked squirrel now resides in a position of perpetuity in a display in my old high school. 

March 2003

At this time, it became apparent that the squirrels had come to stay.  There were scratches...noises...chattering...and running, oh the running, all coming from above.  An entire colony of the little vermin had set up shop in the attic.  It was not unusual to hear the high-pitched chatter or scratchy claw sounds of the squirrels doing their squirrelly deeds in the attic at 3 a.m.  Not necessarily a problem, but a tad unnerving to say the least.

May 2003

By the summer months, the squirrels had realized that it was perhaps warmer and more inviting outside, and their presence was no longer noted.  This was, however, not for long.

November, 2003

Fast forward a bit.  It's cold.  Rainy.  Windy.  And the perfect season for squirrel migration - to tree trunks and attics alike.  The scratching, chatting, and running noises resumed at full speed.

One morning, while minding my own business and snoring like any self respecting night-owl should be, I heard a minor disruption.  It was roughly 5 a.m. and I rolled over, determined to continue sleeping, and pulled my pillow over my head.  So, I heard only in snippets and dream-like shouts of what went on that fateful morningÉthe morning the squirrels once again infiltrated my private bathing space.

Brother:            "Mom, I'm sorry to wake you, but I need a baseball bat."

Mom:               "sfuhysvnwejkrthnwejkgbyhsajkghdbjiosehtewrgvj." (asleep)

Brother:            "Mom, there's a SQUIRREL in the BATHTUB!" 

At this point, the house turned into a circus.  There was apparently another flying squirrel in the bathroom, this one running Olympic-speed laps around the bathtub, which quite rightly scared the living daylights out of my half-awake brother at 5 a.m.  He slowly and spy-like pulled back the shower door to find the poor nocturnal creature staring at him, making squirrel noises and looking altogether malicious.  He slammed the door and went in search of a baseball bat (which, of course, no one in my family possesses). 

My father didn't care for the idea of bashing his bathtub to bits with a bat or any other tool, so in the spirit of the film The Great Outdoors, he armed himself in an outfit fit for pictures and a nice, LARGE bath towel.  The squirrel was scooped (after much varmint protest, mind you) up in the towel and kindly deposited outside, after a stern lecture on the dangers of invading others' homes.

We thought it was over.

December 2003 

As the holly and ivy adorned the doorways and trees in the neighborhood; as the mistletoe hung in corners and children sang carols of Christmas, the talk in my family was of extermination, exorcism and bludgeoning devices.

The squirrels were back. 

As I am sure happens in many houses during the holidays, the living room floor was a tad...cluttered.  You can imagine my surprise when one morning, stumbling into the living room on the way to work with one eye open and no lights on, when I stepped into something...soft.  It was not hard, sharp or otherwise obtrusive like the objects I remembered being in the living room.  I fumbled for a light switch, and to my horror, stared down at a foot-full of squirrel. 

My faithful pet of nearly 20 years, Mo, had sniped a flying squirrel in the night.  Mo had not been outside all night.  He slept with me for a good part of the evening.  And, no one had let him "back" inside during the morning hours.  Using my Sherlock-worthy detective skills, I deduced that this squirrel had been caught...inside...the house.

Of course, any pet of mine would not go about things the normal or neat way.  For as long as I can remember, Mo has left only certain parts of his lunch dates intact.  This squirrel was no exception.  So, being the responsible adult that I am, I quietly turned off all the lights, rearranged the living room boxes so I wouldn't step on it again, and left the surprise for someone else to clean up.

December 2003

Merry Christmas.  By this point, the living room floor had turned into a dumping ground for various friends, relatives and mail delivery people to drop off gifts, food baskets and toys.  So, there was far less room out there for surprises.

So I thought.

Another morning, another work day, another dark, dreary December lighting scheme.

And another foot-full of squirrel 

This time, the victim was nestled snugly in between the Christmas gifts, though I am positive there were no visions of sugarplums dancing through its little head.  It was in the same shape and the previous furry friend, and this one, too, had been apprehended in the house, while in the middle of its evil squirrelly deeds.

Summer 2004

Since that last squirrel body, there have been no more in-house episodes.  However, the weather is changing and I can smell house-squirrel in the air.  I have had several run-ins with the little creatures, including your run-of-the-mill Suicidal Road Squirrel, the annoying Morning Chatter Outside My Window Squirrel, and even a couple Peering in the Window and Running Away When You See Me at work squirrel.  I have determined that there is definitely a squirrel plan to oust me from this world.  So, if you don't hear from me, you'll know where to look.  In a tree.  On the living room floor.  Or, in the attic.

September 9, 2004

Just when you think you're safe....

Nothing makes me happier than the changing of the seasons from summer to fall.  The smell, the sights...and now, the sounds.  Of course, the occasional scratch of a branch or acorn dropping on the roof is to be expected this time of year.  With the gale-force winds we've had of late, I can even expect the walls of my log home to creak a tad.

But that doesn't explain the scratching.  The scraping.  The squealing.

Yes, kids...the squirrels are back.

I have yet to have an actual in-house sighting.  However, the conditions are right.  The weather is changing.  It's getting colder and harder to find food.  Vermin are searching for food and places to store it, and a nice, warm roof over their heads.  My home fits all three criterion.

Till next time, I'm on the lookout.  I'll keep you posted...

September 16, 2004

The latest Squirreling occurred a couple of days ago.  It's taken me this long to get up the guts to go down the stairs to my computer again.

There I was, minding my own business, at the respectable hour of 1 a.m.  I was being "productive" on my home PC, which happens to be in my basement, when I heard it.  The noises.  A couple of thunks, a couple of scraping sounds, and a couple more pop-pop-pops.  The noises were coming from directly above me, which was no surprise--the computer room is directly underneath the upstairs bathroom.  Well, perhaps someone is in the bathroom, I thought.  Or maybe, the water pipes above my head are making their noises again.  Naive, naive girl.

I continued to screw around on the computer, when I heard a noise behind me.  Scratching, lightly, and a couple small THUMPs.  I turned around, expecting to see my cat, having ventured partially down the basement stairs to investigate what was going on in the basement at such a late hour.

Expected to see the cat.

Didn't.

Staring back at me from the darkness of the basement were two large, pure black eyes.  They were shaped almost like a peanut M&M.  I knew in an instant...I was being squirrelled.

My feet immediately sucked up underneath me on the chair.  I didn't want that THING nipping my toes.  My movement must have scared it, because it took off up the stairs, patter patter patter, and disappeared.  What a dilemma.  Did I stay in the basement all night?  Brave the hallway?  Wait for the cat to discover our visitor?

After an hour or two of contemplation, I made my decision, and faster than Superman, I bolted up the stairs, dove into my bedroom, and slammed the door.  That's when it hit me that perhaps the squirrel was in my bedroom.  And now, there I was, trapped inside WITH IT.

I inspected the room top to bottom, made noise, rumpled around, found nothing, and summoned the courage to crawl into bed without being absolutely sure I was alone.  I turned on the lamp, grabbed my book, and snuggled in for my bedtime read, figuring if the squirrel was out in the rest of the house, the cat would leave me a "surprise" in the kitchen or living room by morning.

Well, it wasn't out in the house.

It was now on my window box.

However it had gotten in, it had gotten back out, and was now scratch...scratch....scratching on the window and the sill.  It wanted back in.  Either that, or he was in cahoots with his buddy already inside.

Either way,  I spent the night mortified.

The squirrels are back, and they want me.

September 21, 2004

Just when you think you're safe...

Of all places in the world, you'd think your car is the one place you can find a little solitude.  A little safe haven, if you will, from the world and the things you don't want to face.  Perhaps family or friends, maybe work...and squirrels.

All I wanted to do was get to work safely and on time.  With the Electric Light Orchestra blaring and the speakers pounding out a little too much on the high notes, you don't notice the background noises like you should.  Driver beware.

While attempting to harmonize, I heard it.  Just a small sort of smashing noise.  The rustle of the autumn leaves as I ran them over?  Not a leaf in sight.  I turned off the stereo, and the sound disappeared.  Must be that ever-disconnected door speaker, I thought to myself, and continued to tell fairy tales of Robin Hood, William Tell, Ivanhoe and Lancelot.  Then, again.  Rustle, scrape, bump and then KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

I turned off the stereo and listened again.  This time, the noise continued.  There was something in the car.  With me.  Trying to get out.

Imagine my terror as I continued to drive to work, knowing that there was something - waiting for me when I got there.

I isolated the area of terror to the glove compartment.  This wouldn't be the first time some THING had invaded my private space in a homemaking attempt.  But after the recent flurry of squirrel activity, needless to say, I was horrified.

When I arrived at work, I made like any good McGuyver candidate would - and immediately bolted from the vehicle.  Then, I thought, what a wimp.  If anyone is looking out the window, they're going to see me barreling like a squirrel out of you-know-where and laugh at me.  Best to approach this like a professional.

So, I got back in the car, and with the tips of my fingers, as slowly as humanly possible, I tipped the glove compartment door open.  Peered inside.  No gleaming eyes, no beady stare.  So far I was safe.

Then I heard it again.  Somewhere between the engine compartment and the inside of the car, it was waiting.  Trying to get out.

With fire at my heels, I ran inside the building.  So far, there have been no further noises.  Either IT is waiting inside, choosing the opportune moment to attack me while I least expect it (and to a soundtrack of equally appropriate music, I would imagine) or it has vacated its digs for a new, better vantage point from which to watch and wait.  And wait.  And attack when the time is right.

September 26, 2004

A beautiful, sunny autumn day.  The kind of day that you expect no problems from, the kind where the entire world is at your fingertips.

And then, the power goes out.

For hours, no power in the house.  No lights, ice cream melting before your very eyes - and no discernable problems.  No complications to be found.  And, no one else missing that electrical spark.

After calling the power company and getting a standard "please check your fuse box" message (and determining that everything was up and running in that respect), there we sat.  A power crew was on the way.

Nothing malicious or suspicious about a little power outage, right?

Until help arrived.  For there, dangling from the bottom of the power transformer atop a pole in my front yard, was a barely noticeable tangle of fur.  Fur that was attached to the bottom of a nasty, mangy, malicious and evil squirrel.  In an attempt to infiltrate and overtake my home, the squirrels had sent a sacrifice in the form of "Nuts the Squirrel" to turn off the power, while we unsuspectingly enjoyed the beautiful weather.  In his attempt to foil our daily plans, his life was cut short when his body touched some of the highly electrified equipment stashed within the transformer.  However, his mission was still accomplished - the power was out.  There's no telling what might have happened if the power crew had not arrived so quickly.

That's it, folks.  The gloves are off.  These squirrels mean war.  It's on.

Late February, 2005

I have almost resigned myself to the fact that the squirrels will not relent until they have captured me.  That being said...

Cleaning out one's drawers and closet should be a cleansing, wonderful experience.  Making more room, getting rid of things you don't need, and helping those who need it most.  Not for me.  Oh no, the squirrels had other plans.  I had almost completed the thorough workover of my closet and two dressers...down to the last drawer, in fact.  As I lifted the last garment from the last drawer, I heard a soft, subtly "bunk."  Yes, "bunk."  Something small and hard thumped from the folds of the fabric into the drawer.  Thinking it was hardware, I reached inside.

Hardware?  Fingernail clipper?  Price tag?  Foolish mortals.  Total take from my swimsuit drawer: Three cashews, two acorns and a hazelnut.

They're "squirreling" away rations for an attack.  How else can you explain it?  And to make it worse, the drawer in which they'd stored their little "supplies" is dangerously close to my head.  Yes, my friends, they're ready to wage war.  I would not be at all surprised to find a bunker beneath my sheets one evening.  Battening down the hatches, the squirrels fly by night...

March 17, 2005

Well, it's here...spring.  Almost, anyway.  When one should be watching for gregarious  yet a little nasty leprechauns in the roadway, what am I looking for?  You guessed it.  And with good reason.

They're above me, those demonic little balls of furry fury.  They're in my attic.  Millions of them.  And they're armed.

Laying in bed one evening, preparing for sleep and dreams of good, happy, non-furry things, I heard it.  Scratch.  Tap.  Scurry.  Scratch.  Tap.  Scurry.  Directly above my bed.  So, I did want any self-respecting furphobic would do--I ran screaming down the hallway.

Once assured that they could not, in fact, chew through the ceiling as I feared, I returned to my now-silent bedroom.  Oh, but not for long.  Again, I heard the scraping, the chewing, the slipping and scurrying.  I resolved that these demons, these vile varmints, were NOT going to scare me out of my own BEDROOM.  And I laid there in fear.

Until I heard it.  The fear that immobilizes.  My breath came in such shallow gasps it was near to unnoticeable.

Clinking.  Metal on metal.

They have ammo.

And they're waiting