Squirrels. They’re just bushier rats.

When my dad was a young boy growing up in Michigan in the early 50’s he and his brothers would bait squirrels with peanut butter jars then target practice on them with their air rifles. (‘Guess we know why Daddy joined the Marines later on…) I’m thinking of inviting him to indulge in this childhood pastime, and inviting my brother out from Utah with his rifle.

Now don’t get me wrong! I love animals. I’ve worked at nature sanctuaries and rehabilitated wildlife. When we had squirrels invade our attic in the spring I didn’t call an exterminator, I called the Humane Society and let the squirrels tear up our attic for another 2 weeks so that the babies would be old enough to survive on the outside. But they’re back!

Yet still, every morning I hear that squirrel on our roofline corner gnawing more and more of it away, and the Humane Society can’t give me a more helpful answer than, “Well, that’s very unusual! He’s just very unusual.” And because it’s in a new location from the spot they attacked in the spring it costs as a new housecall to eradicate them from the NEW burrow they created in our attic on the front side – not to mention the repairs to their favorite gnawing spot out back. (I’ll be looking at our homeowners policy today because now it’s not just a matter of sealing off the soffit, but replacing the entire roofline.)

This damned squirrel is making me regret calling the Humane Society to begin with to save their then-baby lives, and not an exterminator.

I know it’s only 2:00pm but…where’s my martini???