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November 27, 2007


Now the little furred bastards are infiltrating our homes.

(Thanks to Mot the Hoople)


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First encore?

This happened years ago to a friend of mine, only it was the huge bag of catfood in her garage and the intruder was a racoon.

She had rather wondered why the cat suddenly seemed scared of the garage.

I got posted!


Yay Mott!

A tree rat in my kitchen? Name him? It boggles the mind.

I'm sorry, but that is just freakin' funny. As long as it ain't happenin' to me.

I'm with you, casey. That's pretty impressive...in a bad terroristic squirrel kind of way.

Dave, why don't you have a squirrel terrorism category like you do for 24?

My next door neighbor had the same cat door problem with raccoons. Scared the h3ll out of their cat.

Oh, how cute! May I suggest they name him 'Rabies.'

What about the broken wine glass? Have they checked their liquor cabinet? I'm thinking this little terrorist is throwing wild rodent parties in his nearby pad. They should be prepared for the inevitable late night brawl.

YAY Mot!!

blurk, get the gun.

Note to self: Hang new sign above doggie door....
"No skwerlz allowed"



*gives up*

OK..so I'm stubborn!


Hmmm. Perhaps the squirrels have gotten loose on the blog, too...

rats!? squirrels!

Be strong.

That was it -- an unmatched <strong>. I blame skwerlz.

YAY dances!!!

Evil Mutant Attack Squirrel of Death

I never dreamed that slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect....

I was on Brice Street- a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it- it was that close.

I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.

Animal lovers never fear- squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves! Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leaped! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, “ BANZAI!” or maybe, “Die, you gravy-sucking heathen scum!” The leap was nothing short of spectacular...

He shot straight up, flew over my windshield and impacted me squarely on the chest. Instantly, the set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he had brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed only in alight t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!

Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing... I grabbed at him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.

That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristine kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. But, this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel.


Somehow, he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and considerable impact landed squarely on my back. There he resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation had not improved. Not improved at all.

His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result: TORQUE. This is what the Valkyrie is made form and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement.

The squirrel screamed in anger.
The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy.
I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on an huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder. With the sudden acceleration, I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars to try to get control of the bike.

This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody’s tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle... My brain was simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect gainst the massive power of the big cruiser.

About this time the squirrel decided I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death) and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.

As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed in intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPM’s on the Valkyrie maxed out since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment, so her front wheel began to drop.

Now, picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged worn t-shirt, one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out of a mostly closed full-face helmet. By now, the screams are probably getting a little hoarse..

Finally I got the upper hand- I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked- sort of. Spectacularly sort-of.. So to speak.

Picture a new scene: You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.

Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength, throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams.

They weren’t mine.

I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at a stop sign at a busy cross street.

I would have returned to ‘fess up, and to get my glove back. I really would have. Really... Except for two things. First, the cops didn’t seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody’s front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been driving was standing in the street aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car. So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to “Let the professionals handle it” anyway.

That was one thing.

The other?

Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me.

That is one dangerous squirrel.
And now he has a patrol car.
A somewhat shredded patrol car, but it was all his.

I took a deep breath, switched on my turn signal, and made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best just to buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a box of band-aids.

Author unknown

DJ, I hope the person in question got some rabies shots.

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