brandywine28: (Default)
The squirrel came back, just now. (Yes, I'm sure it's the same one. I'd know those eyes anywhere. *shudders*) Except there was no horrible leering this time; all he did was romp around in my basil for a couple of minutes before getting bored and scampering away, presumably to far greener pastures.

So I guess whatever dubious magnetism I once had must've, I dunno, magically worn off in the last day or two?

Aaaaaand now my feelings have been hurt by a rodent. I'm done.

ETA: I know how captivated y'all must be by my oh-so-interesting squirrel-related updates. You're welcome. :)
brandywine28: (Default)
The thing--the really, really inconvenient thing--about sleeping in a bed that directly faces your fire escape window?

Is that eventually, some morning, you *will* wake up, roll over, rub the slumber out of your little eyes and realize there's a SQUIRREL out there staring--STARING--in at you, mere inches from your face, his tiny, squirrelly paws pressed against the screen. Ogling, as if your huddled, unconscious form is the most interesting thing it's ever seen. (Squirrels, man. The pervs of the animal kingdom. Who knew?) And then, because you're nothing if not dignified, you'll scream--a high-pitched, teenybopper-esque, a-guy-with-a-hook-for-a-hand-is-chasing-me-through-the-woods-at-night kinda scream, one that shakes the very foundation of your crappily constructed post-war apartment, jiggles the walls, rattles the floorboards and totally destroys your throat. And then your neighbor, a glowering 6'7 monstrosity of a man who until today has never so much as given you a perfunctory elevator head nod, will start banging on your door and yelling that he's about to call the police because he thinks you're being raped in there. And THEN you'll have to answer the door, sheepish and braless and sleep-encrusted, to explain that no! no, no, no, no, no! You're fine, just fine! It's just--it's--because--a squirrel...and you'll point to your window, only to see the damn thing is GONE, vanished into the morning mist as if it had never been there at all, and the man at your front door is looking at you like you're a lunatic (which, let's face it, you probably are).

...yeah. I ain't winning no awards for grace or comportment anytime soon, 's all I'm saying.


brandywine28: (Default)

June 2017

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