Squirrel: A Story

The Problem at Hand...

                I woke up one afternoon only to roll out of bed with the same clothes I had on the day before and clumsily dragged my ass downstairs to gain the rightful nourishment I required in order to resemble close to what a normal human being looked like. 

Once in my kitchen, I had immediately beelined to the box of S'mores pop-tarts I had bought solely for myself (because my family found them "disgusting,") and in order to do so successfully, I had made the mistake of strolling by my open kitchen window.

As I munched on my cold S'mores pop-tart I noticed, mid-step, something interesting that had caught my eye.

The bird feeder, a new one that my mother had bought and hung up only the day before, was curiously not in it's rightful place above our back patio table. I stumbled. "Oh hecc," I whispered so quietly it was only scarcely heard by the mouse that caught it. My heart was racing as I steadied myself so as to not trip. My knees suddenly turned weak, my arms hanging heavy.

I slowly brought my S'mores pop-tart from my mouth in the intention to examine this sudden development more closely, and, in horror, I gazed upon a frightful sight;

Right below the previous position of the aforementioned brand-new, virtually priceless bird feeder was a small furry animal, silently munching on it's spilled contents.

My heart stopped.

I knew this creature.

Squirrel #3.