- EXHIBIT A: The Joyriding Squirrel -- long ago (about 9 years back) in a land far away (Northbrook, or thereabouts) my beau and I took a shortcut (read: we took a longer route to avoid paying for parking) through the woods surrounding the Botanic Gardens in order to gain entry sans parting with our much-valued money. In so doing, we were forced to climb, scramble and jump over many fallen logs and various other forest-like debris. Following a lovely afternoon spent staring at flora, fauna and the occasional goose, we made our way back to the car, where, at said moment, my beau discovered that his car keys were not in his pocket, where he had previously placed them. Long-story-short...they had fallen out of his pocket somewhere in the woods during our stealth garden-entry maneuvering escape. I was forced to drive him back downtown to get his spare keys, then all the way back to his car. On the drive back, I surmised that his car would probably be gone. When questioned as to how I arrived at this interesting (insane) conclusion, I responded that I believed a squirrel most likely found his keys in the woods, and somehow has made its way to the parking lot where his Jeep was currently chilling. Of course, the squirrel tried all the locks of all the cars (this was pre-remote keyless entry) and upon successfully gaining access to his four-wheel-drive wonder, cranked the engine and raced out to 294...swerving and speeding, as almost all squirrels tend to do, heading up north to Wisconsin where an underaged squirrel (he was only 2 in squirrel years -- the fact that there is no such thing as "squirrel years" did not phase me...and of course, this was the only weird part of my tale) can party in style. That was my story. Of course, the Jeep was there when we got back. And somehow my now ex-beau did not have me committed to a little padded cell at that very moment. His bad.
- EXHIBIT B: Wheeling Squirrels Are Crazy:Part 1 -- Prior to living in Evanston, I inhabited this glorious eutopia commonly referred to as Wheeling, IL. Such splendid strip malls, manufacturing plants and apartment complexes I never did see. Ah, but I digress. In my particular apartmental paradise, I had the pleasure on living in a first floor apartment overlooking scenic "Parking lot C"...with a first-rate view of the dumpster. Anywho, since the parking lot was essentially the view out my living room patio, I couldn't help but observe my parked car, and the cars of my neighbors, right there in front of my face. Well, this curious thing would happen when the weather warmed and the squirrels began to run free. The squirrels would gather a good 20 or 30 feet in front of the parked cars (on the lawn in front of my patio, in fact) and then one by one would take a running leap at my car (or those right by it). They would run right at the hood of a car as fast as their fluffly little feet would carry them over the un-mowed grass, then leap onto the hood. I believe their ultimate goal was to leap far enough to get to the windshield and then scurry onto the roof (as one or two actually achieved this lofty goal). The thing was, most of the squirrels landed (flat on their bellies with all four feet/paws/whatever splayed out, I must add!) about halfway up the hood of whichever car they'd chosen, and then slid right back down the front of the hood...over the fender...and back to the grass. I kid you not. It was like watching a real-life road runner cartoon, minus the coyote and the Acme products. To this day, I'm convinced it was some strange squirrel gang initiation of some sort...if they made it to the roof they were official "fluff brothers" or something like that. Word (yes, I am a dork, and I'm ok with that).
- EXHIBIT C: Wheeling Squirrels Are Crazy: Part 2 -- So not only did the Wheeling squirrels take running leaps at parked cars. They took them at my sliding door screen. Yep. You read right. I'd be sitting in my living room watching TV and sense movement out of the corner of my eye. I'd look out the window in time to see a squirrel running at me, full tilt. And at the last minute it would leap at my window, for some reason trying to land as high up on my screen as possible. The funniest part was post-leap, when, after the high of flying without wings wore off, the little furballs would panic and not know how to get down. They would freeze, and end up just plastered there on my screen door...like a bug that splattered on a windshield. Now that's entertainment! And, I'm convinced, how I ended up with a squirrel in my ceiling. My theory is that this particular squirrel made it all the way to the top of my screen, where it found a hole in the brick above my sliding glass door and wriggled in to investigate. Bad timing for Mr. Squirrel. See, as I would learn later, the same week Mr. S let curiousity get the best of him, the building maintenance crew made its rounds and sealed all holes and cracks on the outside of all buildings in the complex. So...the squirell got in, but couldn't get out. I happened to be home from work on the day Mr. S got stuck. Sitting there, I kept hearing this click click click sound running above my head. It took a second for me to realize all apartments were carpeted, and no pets were allowed. Ergo, there was an animal (at this point I didn't know of what species or origin) in my ceiling. I kept hearing it run from the vicinity of the kitchen to pretty much where the sliding door was...well, really, it would go "click, click, click, click, click, click, bam." See, it knew where it had gotten in, but just didn't grasp the whole "can't get out that way" concept. For a week, mostly at night, if would run full tilt (see the pattern here) toward that corner and then I'd hear "bam" as it hit the wall. Finally, animal control came out, sawed a hole in my kitchen wall about the cabinets and set a trap. At 7:00 a.m. the next morning I heard a twang, followed by wimpering unlike anything I'd ever heard. I crept into the kitchen to find the fluffiest darn squirrel I'd ever seen trapped in a metal box suspended above my refrigerator. Huh, now there's a sight you don't see every day. And, I can say, I now know what it's like when squirrels cry!
- EXHIBIT D: The Squirrel Whisperer -- That's me. Apparently I speak squirrel. Who knew? One day, while sitting on a bench by the "fake man-made pond" at my glorious Wheeling apartment, a squirrel came foraging for whatever it is that they forage for. Well, it was making it's little chittering squirrel-sound, so I decided to mimick it. I have no idea why. I can only surmise I was extremely bored. Which makes sense...I was in Wheeling, after all. So, I start making chittering sounds that I think approximate what I hear coming from the little fluffball, and the darndest thing happens -- it stops chittering and eating whatever it was eating, sits up on its hind legs, pricks its ears back and listens. Encouraged, I chitter some more. And the squirrel turns to me. So I chitter again, and it starts coming towards me. I keep it up, and in a minute or so it's at my feet looking up at me. And it is at that moment that I began to panic. See...I have NO IDEA what I'd been saying to the fluffball. All of a sudden I imagine I promised it food, or the keys to a Jeep, or proposed marriage and I start to believe I better get the heck out of dodge. See, the squirrel looks like it's about to jump in my lap -- and getting mauled by an angry, vampire-squirrel (yes, I was convinved it would go for my neck) was just not on my list of things to do that day. So I start making regular people sounds (the kind that ususally scare fluffballs of all kinds away) and soon enough he scampers off. Phew...how would I have explained that engagement to my parents?
- EXHIBIT E: All Squirrels Are Romantics -- The week before last my office-mate lost his wedding ring in the parking lot of our office. It was the day of the "honking huge and freaking ridiculous end-of-March snowstorm" and he had run out in the middle of the day to clean off his car a little. Afterwards, he had snow all over his sleeves and shook them out rather vigorously (his words, not mine...I wasn't there) before going back inside. Well, appartenly his wedding ring was big, and somehow in the bout of shaking had flown off his finger into our parking lot oblivion. When he relayed this story to me, I told another office mate that my belief was that the ring was gone...a squirrel probably came along and swiped it. Said squirrel was probably thinking about proposing to his true love, and it was just his luck to come across such a golden ring at such a time. In fact, I figured at that moment he was down on one leg or paw or however squirrels proposed and asking his best, fluffiest gal to marry him. A week later my office-mate found his ring...about 7 cars away from where he'd parked. I told him that the squirrel's proposal must have been unwelcome, and having been rejected by his only true love, came back to the scene of his fateful ring encounter and just dumped it anywhere...happy to be rid of the foul thing and convinced that WI is where he'll find his true squirrel-love. If only he had a Jeep...
Case closed. And yes, I do realize I'm a more than a few fries short of a happy meal! Hey, at least the Evanston squirrels keep to themselves. For now :) Green Bee gone...
GB
2 comments:
You might want to have your therapist up the dosage a bit.
Huh, I didn't know about a few of these! You really do have squirrel karma. : )
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