lilithsaintcrow | Entries tagged with squirrelterror

I was just ho-hum, tossing some carbohydrate largess to the avians, when the bombs started falling.

It was early in the morning, after my usual five-mile run, a couple of days after my fence had been fired. I had a largish store of crusts to crumble for the feathered friends, and I was waiting for the local murder to figure out I was scattering calories for them. They usually sound the alarm, but Mercutio!Jay is always the first and bravest, swooping down after the crows start making their distinctive “OMG FOOD!” calls.

Anyway, there I was, humming a little song, looking forward to going inside and getting a fresh hot cuppa. All of a sudden, there were little plopping sounds.

What the hell?

I looked up. The sounds continued, and I finally realized I was under attack. Pinecones were being hurled from the trees in my neighbor’s yard, and an angry chittering broke the morning hush. Not one of the cones hit me, though they came awful close. I stood there with three plastic breadbags in one hand and a fistful of almost-molding potato rolls in the other, staring at the pine trees.

“Neo,” I said, out loud, “your aim sucks.”

I should not have taunted the rodents.

Then Mercutio!Jay arrived, screeching his head off. A flash of blue, feathers flying, he streaked across the yard from the opposite direction. He was utterly heroic. As close as I can figure, he was yelling, “TO ARMS! TO ARMS! FAIR LADY, FEAR NOT! TO ARMS!”

Well, of course, the crows heard his racket, began making a racket of their own, and they swooped in too. That’s when things got interesting.

So there I am, sweat still drying on me in the middle of a ring of breadcrumbs, jaw agape, the pinecone barrage halting as the crows flailed into the pine trees. Mercutio!Jay was in a perfect ecstasy of rage, hopping from foot to foot in the pussywillow tree and screaming “GET IN THERE, FELLOWS! TALLYHO! SPANK THOSE RODENTS!”

I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. The pine trees looked like they were caught in a high wind, thrashing and cawing and chittering issuing from the darkness still caught in their branches. Then the pinecones started up again, and I learned something valuable: they hadn’t been trying to hit me.

No, I was just the bait. Because a tiny pinecone hurled out of the tree and smacked Mercutio!Jay, who make a strangled ulp! that might have been funny if it hadn’t sounded like it hurt. I gasped, he went over in a flurry of feathers, and the next thing I know he’d zoomed past me, flapping furiously, still screaming. “GODDAMMIT WOMAN GET UNDER COVER! IT’S ARTILLERY! MURDER! FIRE! ANARCHY! HALP!”

I stumbled backward, still laughing breathlessly, and I again discovered they weren’t aiming at me. Because I tripped over Tuxedo Kitty, who was belly down in the dew-laden grass, watching all this. I hadn’t even noticed him creeping out behind me, and I almost went ass-over-teakettle. Tuxedo Kitty squawked as I almost-stepped on him, and he shot off to my left toward the fence. On the way he was peppered with no less than three pinecones.

Squirrels are crack shots, apparently. Bombing me had just been to get everyone’s attention. I don’t know whether to feel grateful or insulted.

So there I was, regaining my balance with a dance step Ginger Rogers might’ve envied, dropping the rest of the potato rolls and furiously waving the plastic bread bags to signal distress, the ship’s going down, someone do something, while the pine trees thrashed and the crows made an absolutely unholy noise and the squirrels gave their rallying cries.

Then he showed up, winging majestically across the yard in his Capulet blue. It was Romeo!Jay, Mercutio’s best friend, the strong silent type. (Well, as silent as a bluejay ever gets, but still.) He nipped smartly into the pine trees’ recesses, and the tumult reached a fresh pitch.

I was still backing up, trying to look everywhere at once, and Mercutio!Jay circled back to me. He didn’t seem to be any the worse for wear, but he harried me across the yard until I was reasonably safe by the sunroom door. Then he wheeled about and zoomed up into the pine trees.

The Battle of the Pine Boughs lasted about ten seconds after that. Abruptly, a battlefield silence fell. I found out I was actually hugging myself, and my tongue was dry because my mouth was open, I was out of breath from helpless laughter, and I was cold. I watched the pine trees nervously. Nobody is going to BELIEVE this, I thought. Seriously. Squirrel artillery. What next?

The jays appeared first, fluttering down and landing in the middle of the bread. “DUDE,” Mercutio was saying. “DUDE, DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU? YOU WERE ALL, POW, AND BARTHOLOMEW!CROW WAS ALL LIKE ZAP! AND THOSE SQUIRRELS, MAN. DID YOU SEE WHAT THEY DID?”

Romeo!Jay shrugged, pecking at the bread. Both of them ignored me.

The crows came down one by one, (Bartholomew the largest was first, as usual) and the usual feeding-scrum developed, with Mercutio yelling at the crows and them laughing at him and eating anyway. I felt for the doorhandle, slid the French door open, and stepped inside to welcome warmth, backward so I could keep an eye on the yard. There was no sign of poor Tuxedo Kitty, who I had almost flattened. (It was his own damn fault anyway.)

A tiny movement caught my eye as I was bracing the door closed with a dowel. (Just to be sure, you understand.) I straightened, quickly, my back giving a twinge and gooseflesh all over me.

There in the back corner, perched on the fence behind a screen of blackberry leaves, was Squirrel!Neo. His tail was twitching furiously, and his beady little eyes were fixed on the birds. His little mouth moved, and even at that distance and without much knowledge of squirreltongue, I figured out what he was saying with little trouble.

“You bastards,” he was mouthing. “You bastards. Just you wait.”

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First, the news: If you have an ebook reader and are in the US, and you want a sneak peek at the upcoming Jill Kismet book, Heaven’s Spite, check out the Orbital Drop.

Next, a question. My book-finding kung fu is usually pretty good. Which means I get calls in the middle of the night from people who can’t remember a specific title, or who know only the color of a book. (Hey, at least they’re calling. Otherwise I’d feel lonely.) But this particular request has me stumped.

Here’s what we know about the book: the cover was black, it had “Osiris” in the title, it was around in the mid-70s, and the publisher’s logo was an Aladdin’s cave-style oil lamp. Not sure if it’s hard or softcover, and it’s metaphysics/occult, not poetry or history. Any hints are welcome. (Translation: I am releasing the hounds of the Internet Hive Mind! HIDE!)

And now, about my fence.

A couple days after Squirrel Matrix Training, a day or so after the falling squirrels, I shambled to the treadmill in a fog. I yawned, climbed on, suppressed a coffee-tasting burp…and realized something was not quite right.

There was a huge bloody hole in my fence. I went out to examine, my jaw suspiciously loose.

I have a chain link fence with those plastic strips worked through the links for privacy. The metal bits were still standing, but the plastic had been melted in a five-plus-foot hole right behind the plum tree. At first I thought it was some kind of chemical, since the strips were gnarly-melted.

“Sonofabitch,” I said, plus other words too.

It used to be a beautiful field back behind my house. Alas, the Powers of Development arose and stuck an apartment complex there. It would be fine if the kids from the complex didn’t throw trash over my fence, or steal things out of my back yard before I put a lock on the gate back there–and let’s not even talk about the petty vandalism on the padlocks I put in, until the hedge-bushes managed to grow enough to make it hard to get to. The whole thing is compounded by the fact that there’s a humongous dustbin right behind my back gate, so there’s all sorts of bloody hijinks and interesting smells.

Anyway, there was the hole in my fence and I couldn’t do anything about it right at the moment. So I decided to repair to the treadmill and think about things. I didn’t trust my temper without exercise to ameliorate it, and the fence was already damaged. I was already in my exercise togs, I might as well get the run out of the way, take a shower, and then start planning. It sounded a very adult thing to do.

Right as my first mile clocked over, I saw the maintenance man from the complex taking pictures of the hole from his side of the fence, wedged into a convenient hole in the hedge. I was off the treadmill in two seconds and in the back yard to meet him.

“I hope you’re as concerned about this as I am,” was my opening shot.

The poor guy. Apparently there had been a fire the previous afternoon. Someone had called him instead of calling 911, it was a miracle the fire hadn’t spread to the plum tree or the juniper. And now here I was, breathing hard like a crazy woman, sweating a little, and in exercise togs.

“Damn kids,” I said. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had problems.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumped. “Well, yeah. I’m going to see if the landscapers can trim the bushes away, so parents can see their kids playing…”

I gave him an are-you-high? sort of look. I mean, come on. If the parents were paying attention the little cheeseheads wouldn’t be throwing crap over my fence all the time. “Um, that’s not such a good idea for me,” I said, rather diplomatically I think. “When the bushes were smaller we had a lot more rubbish thrown over the fence.”

He winced. “Well, you can just throw it back…” He seemed physically unable to end a sentence with a period. Instead he’d trail off, hang his head to the side a little, and give me a sheepish look.

That’s not the point, I thought, but manfully restrained myself. I did extract a halfass promise to get my fence fixed, which I will no doubt have to twist an arm or two to have made good upon. I don’t even want to think about that right now, it makes me tired. At this point I just wanted to go back and finish my run, and I was pretty sure he wanted to be anywhere else but there talking to me.

And then Maintenance Man glanced up over my shoulder. “Huh.”

I looked back. And I flinched.

Squirrel Neo was on the roof. Beady eye fixed upon us, he chittered loudly. I didn’t need a squirreltongue dictionary to figure out it was a warcry.

“Oh no,” I said. I was presented with one of those exotic moments–how do you explain to a guy just doing his job that a squirrel knows kung fu? How do you even begin to explain the squirrels falling out of the sky? Where do you even start with something like this?

I was saved the trouble. Because Neo hurled himself across my roof, leapt off, spun on the birdfeeder a couple times, was flung through the air, landed in the middle of my yard, and came scampering straight for us.

I didn’t have time to say more than “AUGH!” Maintenance Man let out a “Jesus Christ!” worthy of King Arthur. Imagine two grown adults quailing as a squirrel leaps through ankle-high grass–look, we’ve already established I should mow more, all right? Don’t judge. Anyway, we cowered.

It was not my finest moment.

However, we weren’t Neo’s targets. He leapt up into the plum tree and furiously upbraided us. Again, I’m not way up on my squirreltongue, but I think he was saying something like this:

“YEAH! NOW YOU SEE! NOW YOU SEE IT! I KNOW KUNG FU! NEXT TIME IT’S NOT JUST A GRENADE, GODDAMN YOU! YOU TELL THAT PONCEY BLUEJAY I’M COMIN’ FOR HIM! YEEEEEAAAH!”

“What the hell–” Maintenance Man stared in wonder. I was backing up.

Squirrel!Neo scrambled through the branches, extended in a flying leap, and landed on the fence not two feet from Maintenance Man, who let out another strangled sound. Neo scurried along the fence, all the way across my back yard, hopped down into the brush that used to hold the compost pile, and disappeared into my neighbor’s yard.

I took stock. We were both still alive. Nobody had been kicked in the head. “Jesus,” I breathed.

“Never seen one do that before…” Maintenance Man swallowed visibly. “So, yeah. Anyway. Thank goodness the fire didn’t spread…”

Did you not just SEE that? I stopped myself just in time. I mean, the situation was bad enough. I wouldn’t make it any better by ranting about a squirrel. See, this is the difference between me now and me fifteen-twenty years ago. I know to keep my fool mouth shut sometimes. “Yeah. Thank goodness nobody was hurt. I’d better get back to my treadmill. I look forward to having the fence fixed.”

And I beat a retreat.

I won’t lie. I felt better inside, with the sunroom door firmly closed and bolted.

After that, I didn’t see a single squirrel for a couple days. Am I a coward if I admitted I was grateful? My gratitude, however, was short-lived.

Neo wasn’t done yet.

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The crows tried to warn me as I was walking back from the bus stop. The local murder was up in a fir tree behind the neighbor’s house, and they carried on until I called back. I think they knew I didn’t quite understand, I was busy planning out my day. Just let it be known they tried to warn me. It isn’t their fault.

This was, of course, the day after I witnessed Squirrel!Neo’s training. My fence was still intact. (We’ll get to the fence in the next post, I promise. Bear with me.) I kind of wondered if anything would happen while I was on the treadmill, but it was dead quiet.

Too quiet.

I did see Mercutio!Jay, stuffing himself with bread in the usual manner. The crows came down and picked at the bread too, ignoring Mercutio’s bad-tempered screeching. They paid me no mind, having apparently done all they could. All was serene.

It wasn’t until I was on my fifth and final mile that I realized something was happening. I tore my earbuds out and listened, trying to focus over the soughing of my breath and the sound of the treadmill’s motor, the pounding of my feet. If I still had the old squeaky treadmill I never would have noticed it. Scrabbling sounds? Something?

What the hell is that? I listened as hard as I could all through the final mile, which passed agonizingly slowly without music. Huh. It’s coming from the roof.

As soon as I finished the last mile I hit the stop button. Breathing hard, covered in sweat, I cocked my head and was rewarded.

Well, maybe rewarded isn’t the right word. It sounded like there was a goddamn moose on my roof.

What the– I seriously did not even get to finish the thought. It was at that moment the squirrel fell.

It gamely tried to grab the birdfeeder hanging in front of the sunroom window, missed, and plunged to the grass. It was up again in an instant, shaking its head, and another one followed, making the same desperate grab for the feeder.

“Jesus!” I yelled, actually jumping on the treadmill. Squirrels 1 and 2 scrambled for the fence to my right, buttonhooking around the edge of my garage, and the scrabbling on the roof intensified.

And another squirrel fell.

I stared. It’s raining Rodentia. No, they’ve gone lemming. Wait–they’re lying in wait for Santa a few months early. What the bloody hell?

Another squirrel hurtled down, making the same grab for the feeder. “Ohhhhhhh,” I breathed. “You sonsabitches! That’s for the bloody birds, you morons!”

I kept ranting. The squirrels kept falling.

At this point I realized I was standing on my treadmill, dripping with sweat, screaming in my sunroom while squirrels streaked to earth like meteors. I realized there was about five of them, and they were running laps–around the corner of my garage, up the juniper bush around the front, onto the roof, across the house to the sunroom, and searching for a way to get to the birdfeeder. They were determined, and one actually grabbed the lip of the feeder and was spun as it twirled on its rope, then shaken off and flung to the ground. By that point, they were all looking a bit stunned.

The last one to fall off was Squirrel!Neo. I’d recognize that cocked tail and beady glare anywhere. He lay for a second in the dew-wet grass, then hopped to his feet and stared at me. We stood like that, woman and squirrel, both of us out of breath. I swallowed the last half of the sentence I was about to yell.

This isn’t over, he seemed to be saying. Bitch, this is so not over.

At this point, I’m afraid, my temper snapped. “Oh, yeah?” I put both hands on my hips. “Bring it, you fuzzy-assed moron. Bring it.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, he scampered away. There was a final scurry on my roof, heading for the bedrooms and the hedge and fence. The squirrels all disappeared into the hedge, and I began to feel a little nervy. I tried to tell myself it was just a squirrel, and after all, I had Mercutio on my side, right? I was the tool-using mammal with the opposable thumb and thousands of years of technology on my side. I could handle a squirrel.

I had no idea what was coming.

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I only have a couple minutes today. There’s been more Squirrel Terror, so I’ll just update you on that. At least, I’ll update you on part of it. I just…I don’t even know.

Apparently Squirrel!Neo took getting laughed at pretty seriously. After his plan involving Mercutio ignominiously failed, we had a couple days of peace. Then, last week–maybe it was Tuesday, because my fence was still there (more on that later, I promise)–I climbed on the treadmill and was actually relaxing a little bit, thinking that I would have a nice easy run without any shenanigans.

I was wrong.

It didn’t take me long to realize Neo was lurking about. Not only that, but there was another squirrel in my yard. The two faced each other in sunlit grass, noses twitching, before Neo leapt on the intruder and a fursplosion occurred. The other squirrel would chitter contemptuously every time Neo was flung back.

I actually thought the newcomer was some punk looking to take over Neo’s territory, and of course, I started rooting for Neo. (Better the squirrel demon you know than a new one, right?) But something didn’t seem quite right, even when Mercutio!Jay showed up, perching on the fence and eying the proceedings with great interest.

Then something amazing happened.

Squirrel!Neo broke away, and I swear to God the other squirrel yelled, “Good game! Now, lap time! MOVE IT!”

And Squirrel!Neo (I am NOT making this up) headed for the plum tree like his tail was on fire.

He shimmied up the plum tree, foliage shook, and he leapt for the fence. Stuck the landing, barreled past a bemused Mercutio!Jay (who fluttered up to the hedge behind, still cocking his head in a bemused fashion) and jumped up into the pussywillow. He proceeded to perform a two-minute acrobatic routine in the willow, leaves fluttering madly, then he leapt back down to the fence and disappeared into the neighbor’s yard. Thirty seconds later he was back, streaking across open space past the other squirrel, who stood motionless.

Neo did this three times, acrobatics included. I was tired just watching him. Mercutio watched silently, and the other squirrel just stood there, watching, his tail occasionally twitching. He was a big dude, too. At least a head taller than Neo, which, granted, isn’t saying much. They’re squirrels. Still, he had great posture.

After the third lap, Neo skidded to a stop in the middle of the yard and looked at the bigger squirrel. They stared at each other, and then, I swear, the bigger squirrel nodded. They both broke at the same instant for the juniper hedge and vanished.

Mercutio!Jay coasted across the yard, settled in the feeder in front of my window, and had his breakfast. Every once in a while, he would stop and stare sidelong at the yard, as if trying to figure out what the hell he’d just seen. Once he finished pecking at the birdseed, he stopped, his wings flicking absently.

Then he tilted his head and stared at me, like he was trying to tell me we’d seen something momentous. I pondered this as I ran. It was almost the end of the third mile.

“Holy shit!!” I yelled, suddenly. “Oh my God!”

Mercutio hopped twice, like he couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it earlier.

“Holy shit!” I yelled again, as the mileage clicked over to mile four. “MERCUTIO! THAT WAS F!CKING MORPHEUS! HE’S TRAINING NEO! THAT WAS SQUIRREL KUNG FU TRAINING!”

I swear to God the bluejay rolled his eyes at me. He took off in a flash of blue feathers, and I began to laugh. Within sixty seconds, though, I’d stopped laughing, and not just because I was running.

Because I’d realized, you see, that Neo in training…well.

I’m a little afraid for my bluejay hero.

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Eighty-plus degrees. Terrible humidity. I cannot believe this is September, and it doesn’t matter anyway, since the book is eating my head. Sometimes the shift from recalcitrant huge book-thing I have to drag with my teeth to galloping bronco pulling me along in the dust as I frantically try to stay upright is extraordinarily abrupt.

So, I only have a few moments, and I should record this extraordinary thing in the annals of SquirrelTerror.

I did mow the lawn this weekend–no, that was not the extraordinary thing, jeez, I know I don’t do it as much as I should, but I’m busy, all right? (Defensiveness, another symptom of approaching deadline.) ANYWAY. I was waiting to see what Squirrel!Neo would think of this, but ever since I hacked the grass into something resembling a reasonable suburban lawn there was no sight of him.

Until this morning.

The quiet did terrible things to my nerves, so I was almost relieved this morning to see the fuzzy little jerk up in the pussywillow tree, clinging in a fork and surveying the shorn grass. He stayed there so long I almost felt guilty for mowing, I imagined him thinking about the nuts he must have hidden and how the grass probably wouldn’t provide a safe cover for them now. I even imagined him bemoaning a natural disaster that had descended on his little patch, stunned by the seeming capriciousness. What does a squirrel know of the weekend and the various exigencies of lawn care?

Yes. I felt sorry for the little bugger.

I shouldn’t have.

He perched in the pussywillow for a good half hour while I ran, and I was even getting to the point where I imagined him sending me little reproachful glances from his beady little rodent eyes as he slid back and forth, checking the sight lines and contingencies. He looked utterly hangdog. I even thought–I am completely serious–that when I was done with five miles I’d go out and scatter some bread for him.

That was when Mercutio!Jay showed up.

He glided in to land on his usual branch, silently–maybe he was uneasy, maybe he was thinking about something else–and with enviable power and authority, as befit the master of the backyard.

And Squirrel!Neo sprang.

Barely had Mercutio!Jay landed before Squirrel!Neo, the doughty warrior who had lain in wait for so long, hit Mercutio’s favorite branch like a ton of bricks. The branch whipped back and forth, Mercutio!Jay was thrown.

But Squirrel!Neo had committed a classic blunder. The first is never get into a land war in Asia, and we all know what the second is. Apparently, Squirrel!Neo had this great plan, except he forgot one tiny detail.

Bluejays can fly. Or, more precisely, Neo forgot that jays fly…

…and squirrels, so far, do not.

Mercutio!Jay started shrieking and flapping, and I swear I saw a flash of triumph on Squirrel!Neo’s fuzzy snout before he realized he was falling. He flurried desperately, and now we get to the extraordinary thing.

He scrabbled, sliding down a long thin whippy branch, and he almost made it. I gasped, Mercutio!Jay was still screaming as he settled back on his favorite perch (I am not sure, but I think he was yelling “JESUS CHRIST! WHAT THE F!CK, YOU KUNG-FU WISEASS? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”), and Squirrel!Neo clutched desperately…

…and fell. He hit a metal bench set under the fence, then did this amazing flip off the bench and landed on the lawn, braced on all fours. His tail switched once, twice, and I could hear the theme music swelling.

Mercutio!Jay hopped from foot to foot. I could swear he was doing the Carlton. His beak moved, and again, I am not up on my bluejaytongue, but I believe he was taunting little Neo.

The closest translation I can offer is: “YEAH! WHO KNOWS KUNG FU NOW, YOU FUZZY-ARSED MORON! WHO KNOWS YOUR KUNG-FU NOW? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Squirrel!Neo’s lips moved.

I could swear he said “Sonofabitch,” before he scampered for the plum tree and disappeared.

This does not bode well.

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I really should mow the grass.

I say this because the herbiage is now long enough to give Squirrel!Neo plenty of cover as he goes about his business in my back yard. This grants him, as a Ninja Squirrel, a certain latitude of action. Like the peanut he tried to break my sunroom window with this morning…

…this may require a little explanation, actually.

I was on the treadmill, powering my way through the third of five miles. I call it the break mile, because once I’ve finished it I might as well finish out the whole bloody hour, right? Since I’m over halfway. It’s just one of those little tricks I use to keep myself running. Anyway, I was on the treadmill, with a box of tissues. Because the cold still has me in a grip–well, not quite of iron, perhaps just of lead. Something a bit softer, but still metallic.

It had just begun to rain, and I could see the bread scattered earlier this morning for the bluejays and crows slowly getting sodden. If the birds don’t get it the possums will, and don’t talk to me about the possums. I am bribing them in the hopes that they will be allies when the squirrels try to hack my house. (I’m not saying this keeps me up at night, okay? I’m just saying prudence is a virtue.) Remember the bread, all right? Trust me, it’s important.

So along comes Squirrel!Neo. He’s head-down in the grass, tail twitching as he buries something a few feet from the window directly in front of me. I swear I can see every hair on the fuzzy little bastard’s rear. What happened next surprised us both.

I sneezed. I grabbed for a tissue, since it was a wet one. (Between the sweating and the sneezing, it was a very damp morning in there.) And something hit the window.

A peanut.

An actual peanut. I think someone in the neighborhood actually feeds these beasts.

That son of a bitch squirrel threw a peanut at me. He sat straight up, from the tuft of grass he’d fled to, apparently in terror, after chucking the peanut to save his miserable life.

It startled me, so I swore. Loudly. And Squirrel!Neo chittered. At least, I think he did, I had my earbuds in but I saw his little chest and mouth moving. I don’t know squirreltongue, but I believe I can translate what he was saying.

“BITCH! I KNOW KUNG FU! FIRST TIME IT’S A PEANUT! NEXT TIME I KICK YOU IN THE HEAD!”

And you know, that actually upset me a little. Because I have done nothing to this squirrel other than laugh at the cats when he shows up. Maybe he thinks I’m laughing at him? I don’t know. But the injustice of the situation struck me quite strongly at the moment. So I did what anyone would have done.

I yelled back. (Those among you who are easily offended or have tender ears may wish to quit reading now, while you’re ahead.)

“MOTHERF!CKER!” I yelled. “DON’T YOU F!CKING THREATEN ME! WHO GAVE YOU THAT GODDAMN PEANUT?! YOU BREAK MY WINDOW THERE WILL BE HELL TO PAY!”

Now, I of course knew that a peanut, even flung by The One, would not break the window. And I didn’t give a good-glory-goddamn where he got that peanut from. But when I get to cursing, the most amazing things come out of my mouth, things that have only a tenuous connection to logic. I mean, I wish I could taunt like John Cleese, but this is the best I can do, so I commit, you know?

Squirrel!Neo fled to the tenuous purchase of a red wagon the kids left in the middle of the yard. As he did, I caught sight of something amazing falling from the arc of his beautiful jump.

Yes, friends and neighbors. I literally scared the shit out of Squirrel!Neo. He scampered off into the plum tree, probably feeling a few ounces lighter.

By this time I was torn between embarrassment, gratification, the urge to laugh like a hyena, the aching in my legs, the fact that I did not have enough breath for all the multitasking I was doing, and a coughing fit. I think I coughed and swore through the next three minutes, an amazing clot of phlegm working free inside my chest. (I will NOT tell you what happened to the clot. I have some couth.)

Another mile and a half passed by, and I had almost recovered when I saw the little fuzzy bastard again. He sauntered out, bold as you please, and started working on the soggy bread. (I told you to remember the bread.)

Well, of course, I watched him. It was a tense detente.

Squirrel!Neo was so busy stuffing his face, in fact, that he didn’t notice the bluejay. (I had originally cast this jay as Mercutio, I suppose that’s as good a name as any.) One of a pair who frequents my backyard and scares everyone else at the birdfeeder, this particular jay likes to hang out in the pussywillow tree and roundly curse everyone in sight, or the weather, or what have you. He’s also incredibly jealous of bread. He won’t eat it if he’s already full, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let anyone take a bit of it. The only exception are the crows, who just sort of laugh at him as he jumps up and down screeching.

Anyway. Mercutio!Jay was unamused by this turn of events. He did not do what he usually does, which is stand up there and yell.

No. Mercutio hopped off the branch, glided down, and proceeded to beat the living hell out of Squirrel!Neo all the way across the yard. Once he was sure he had the fuzzy bastard on the run, he started yelling. Again, I’m no good at bluejaytongue, but I shall endeavor to translate.

“SONOFABITCH THAT’S MY GODDAMN BREAD! YOU KNOW KUNG FU? YOU KNOW KUNG FU? WELL I’M GODDAMN MERCUTIO, MOTHERF!CKER, AND I’LL WHOMP YOUR FUZZY ASS IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER!”

It’s a damn good thing I’d just finished my five miles. Because I barely had the wherewithal to hit the stop button. I stood there laughing so hard I cried, blowing my nose twice, coughing and sweating and sneezing. I actually got a vicious side-stitch from the whole deal, but here’s the best part.

Remember that peanut? The one Neo chucked at me? Well, after he chased the One across the yard, Mercutio!Jay flew back, still swearing at top volume, and picked up the peanut. That forced him to shut up. Still, he eyed me for a few seconds while in front of the window.

Then I swear to God, he winked and flew off.

And you know…he left the bread.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

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I have a terrible cold. My largest ambition is going to the grocery store to get DayQuil (I’m not completely out of those little orange capsules of DOOM, thank God), milk, and coffee. (Because I used the last of the coffee this morning OMGBBQLLAMA CRISIS AVERTED…) The common cold is actually rather an interesting little thing, when you consider how long it’s been with us, how successful it is, and how ubiquitous too. (This could, of course, be only the fever talking.)

So today is for pottering about and letting the next bit of the story cook. The book broke free last night–that’s the point in a work where I can feel it taking its own shape, where the setup has been done and now it’s just a matter of seeing where the dominoes fall. It’s much more comfortable than the first long slog after the freshness of the idea has worn off and the last long slog where it becomes the latest iteration of the Book That Will Not Die Stab It Quick.

Of squirrels I have only one more thing to report: Squirrel!Neo is the unchallenged master of our yard. Yesterday I was reduced to hysterical laughter as the youngest and silliest of our cats–the one so long and lean and big-eyed we call him the Lemur Cat–threw himself at my writing window to get at Squirrel!Neo. (There is still a little noseprint there.) I will swear to my dying day that Squirrel!Neo, calmly hopping about in the yard with his tail flicking unnecessarily but very aesthetically every few bounds, shot Lemur Cat the finger. He didn’t even flinch when Lemur Cat hit the window, either. He just flipped him off, as if to say “Bitch, I know kung fu.”

The funny thing is that Lemur Cat staggered back from the window and across the living room, where he somewhat drunkenly but very viciously attacked the mild-mannered, inoffensive little scratching post I spray with catnip oil every now and again. (Head trauma in felines is fun to watch.)

When he had taught that sorry inanimate object its place, he tore around the room twice, leaping from THE CHAIR to the couch and knocking various things over. Then he calmly sauntered back to my writing window (the window that even now bears a noseprint), hopped up, and settled down on his haunches, staring unblinking at Squirrel!Neo, who was digging around in the lavender under my window like he owned the place and was going to take a nosegay back to the Squirrel!Oracle.

I laughed so hard I coughed and choked. Which produced (or moved around) an incredible amount of phlegm. So I lunged for the tissues, desperate to avoid spraying my laptop with contagion, and almost fell out of my chair. Almost. Lemur Cat shot me a filthy look, but I did not fall over. And I was actually rather pleased about that, even though that would have made the story much, much funnier. I wasn’t sure whether or not to count that as a victory over Squirrel!Neo.

In the end, I think I’d best call it a tie between me and that fuzzy little bastard. But it’s Squirrel!Neo 3, cats 0; or cats .5 if I let them claim me not falling and cracking my fool head open.

I can’t decide if that makes me the referee or the scorekeeper. Further bulletins as events warrant…

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Okay, so I now know why that one day was so quiet.

The squirrels were training their Neo.

Yesterday I was on the treadmill. It was the last five minutes of a five-mile run and, true to form, I had a side stitch and a serious case of wanting to be just about anywhere than where I was. I kept running, because, well, what the hell, it was the last five minutes and I knew I’d feel Victorious and Vindicated and all sorts of other words when I was done.

Then it happened. Well, not it, but the precondition for the utterly ridiculous I am about to relate occurred.

I saw a squirrel.

He was a big one, too, and he sauntered out into the middle of the yard in a few graceful, authoritative leaps. My earbuds were in, so I couldn’t tell if he was chittering. I do know he was scanning my yard like he expected an army to appear at any moment.

No army appeared. However…one of my cats did. The sweet, stupid tuxedo kitty, who I adore. Of all three, he’s most my cat. He thinks he’s a hunter, too, and sometimes leaves birds (and when we had the field out back, often mice) on my front step. Of course, he totally ruins the effect by being scared of them once he’s killed them–when I pick them up he runs and hides.

So anyway, he was going to get himself a squirrel snack. What I was thinking was, You idiot, that could have rabies! What came out, since I was running and couldn’t get any breath, was a version of “MMMmmmmrph AAAARGHNOOOOOOOO!”

That was when it happened, and I realized this was the Morpheus!Squirrel’s saviour. This was The One. (This probably makes my cats Agents.)

Anyway, the squirrel watched the cat bounding for him, and I could swear there was a moment of kung-fu pose before the cat leapt, all graceful authority, tail held out and claws most probably unsheathed. It was beautiful. It was flat-out gorgeous.

It was, however, doomed.

Neo!Squirrel jumped at the last second, did an amazing flip, and I swear to God he kicked my cat in the head.

No. Seriously. He kicked my cat in the head.

In the head.

My kitty landed in a heap, Squirrel!Neo chittered and zoomed away. He leapt five feet up, caught the trunk of the plum tree, and fricking vanished. Vanished. I hit the stop button–by this point, all five miles had been achieved and I was having visions of a dead cat to deal with–ripped my earbuds out, almost ran into the sunroom’s glass door, and got outside just in time to see my tuxedo kitty zoom under the fence, tail held low and ears back.

I don’t blame him. He was kicked in the head.

I stood there, sweating and cursing, and the phone rang inside the house. For a moment I seriously thought it was Squirrel!Neo calling with a declaration of war.

It was a telemarketer. Thank God. (And this is the only time you’ll probably hear me say THAT.)

My tuxedo kitty seems none the worse for wear, just a bit shaken and embarrassed. He came back in after lunch and spent a long time grooming himself and beating up on the other two cats. (To assure himself of his masculinity, I guess.) It was with no little trepidation that I climbed on the treadmill this morning.

Halfway through my run, Squirrel!Neo sauntered out into the yard. He spent a long time pretending to dig, but then he hopped up on one of the patio chairs and eyed me directly for a disconcertingly long time as I ran and tried to ignore him. Beady little eyes, big fluffy tail, and kung fu. Jesus.

I can’t wait to see what’s next. I just hope that fuzzy little bastard doesn’t think I’m after his girlfriend. And I also hope he can’t get his paws on any weapons…

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Those of you on my Twitter feed may (or may not) have been amused by my Ninja!Squirrel reportage. Basically, this all started one morning while on the treadmill, sweating out a five-mile run, I saw a death-defying Terminator ninja squirrel.

I’m not kidding. The little rodent leapt (or was otherwise propelled) off a two-story roof, tumbled through tree branches, hit my back fence, somersaulted in midair, hit the ground, bounced (TWICE! Bounced TWICE, I tell you!) and lay there for a moment.

I was thinking it was a dead squirrel when the little fur-bearing Terminator hopped up on its back legs and glared at me. Of course, I was also (breathlessly) laughing at the time. While running, I might add. Developed a hell of a side stitch, too.

Ninja!Squirrel glared at me, I repeat, as if I had been the author of his downfall. His beady little eyes, I tell you, were alight with what I can only call hellfire.

Since that moment I have paid closer attention to the squirrels in my back yard. Of course, I can’t bloody tell if Ninja!Squirrel is among the ones who gleefully frolic while I run on the treadmill, providing me with distraction and Twitter-food. Those fuzzy little things all look the same to me. Seriously, I can’t distinguish one squirrel from another.

But things…have grown odd.

Yesterday, as I ran, I began to notice something strange. There appeared to be two groups of bushy-tailed Rodentia in my back yard, and they were at what appeared to be war or an extended squirrel dance number. There were leaps, chases, aerial maneuvers, and out-and-out clawings and bitings. The longer I ran, the more interested I became in trying to figure out just what the holy hell was happening–and this was while three bluejays and a crow were playing “chicken” over some scattered bread, while two of my cats watched from the sunroom window and made throaty little ohpleaseohPLEASE warbles at me.

Of course, my fancy got the better of me. I began to think up a squirrel Romeo and Juliet.

Two clan Rodentias, both alike in infamy,
in my fair backyard, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny
where rodent blood makes rodent claws unclean…

I cast one of the jays as Mercutio, and the crow, of course, as the Prince. I was trying to figure out if one of the cats could conceivably be Tybalt or if that was Just Too Much and I would have to have Tybalt be, say, a weasel? Or something? When my run ended and I hopped off the treadmill for my chin-ups and the rest of my day.

Now comes the creepy part.

Same time this morning, I climbed on the treadmill. About ten minutes in I noticed a growing sense of unease that had nothing to do with how fast I was running or how unhappy my breakfast was with being shaken so. After fifteen I was perplexed, and after twenty I began to be actively unsettled.

There were robins in the back yard, and little birds I call chickadees since they’re striped. The jays were back, shrieking at everything that offended them. A trio from the local crow murder investigated hopefully for some bread, and several of the neighbors’ cats wound through on their appointed rounds, all studiously ignoring each other. So far, so good.

But no squirrels. Not a single blasted furry little tree-rat to be found. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.

I wonder if SquirRomeo killed his lady love’s cousin last night. Or if Ninja!Squirrel has succeeded in enforcing his grip over the clans and is planning an assault on my garage. Or if they are hidden, as only ninjas can hide–I mean, duh, that’s why they’re ninjas–and the pirate squirrels haven’t hit the port yet.

I wonder, it would seem, entirely too much. And yet, I am anticipating tomorrow’s morning run with breathless excitement.

Further bulletins as events warrant.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

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Ragged Feathers

Bedraggled But Proud

Battle of the Pine Boughs

Neo And The Fence

Squirrels Falling

Training Is Everything

A Squirrel’s Classic Blunder

Mercutio!Jay, My Hero

Beastly cold

Squirrel!Matrix

Squirrel Wars

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