Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Open Letter to the Squirrel in My Attic
Image from Grey Squirrels Disturbing on cafepress
You don’t get to judge me, Mister. Okay, I have a lot of Christmas decorations up here…eleven Rubbermaid tubs, to be exact. So what? Like you don’t hoard crap? At least mine is dutifully labeled. And so I have every piece of paper I ever laid a finger on in grad school – big deal! I might need to know something about 17th century Dutch genre paintings by Jan Steen and then where would I be? I can’t ask you for input now, can I?!
It’s been fun for you, I’m sure, reading my old research papers, mocking my pseudo-intellectual art historical prose. It was the 90s! Everyone wrote like that! And yeah, that IS a Colin Powell GI Joe doll in the corner. It’s propped up on the cedar chest – you know, the one with the broken lock? Who knows what’s in there…I digress.
Look, I’m going to give you a choice here. We can play nice or we can play hard. Scenario A has you coming down out my attic on your own accord, allow me to dress you in a vest and small hat and then walk you about my neighborhood on a long silver leash, demonstrating your willingness to be my personal mascot/sidekick for wacky high jinx and crime solving. Scenario B has me throwing your squirrelly ass out a third story window. What’s it gonna be, Mister?
You have until high noon.
PS If you’re looking for nesting materials to take with you on your way out, I’ll happily contribute my ex-husband’s 43 old copies of Wired magazine. The box can follow you out the window.