You may or may not remember the time a squirrel found its way into my fridge.
And despite the fact that such a story belongs on a revisited version of Amazing Stories, it truly happened, thus causing me to become extremely vigilant in closing the doggy door in my kitchen on a daily and nightly basis. For what if the squirrel I had trapped in my fridge were to decide to enact vengeance upon me and my home? For what if I were to leave the doggy door open while I was meditating on a mat in the living room? The squirrel could enter the home, gnaw off an ear or small finger, and my life would be forever changed.
Well this past weekend I realized the squirrels have declared war against me.
Some people think I read into life’s signs more than others. For example, the time I found lime juice in my fridge that wasn’t mine, set me off on a crusade to determine just who was trying to screw with my mind. There was the time I found an old Indian penny on my desk — just sitting there for no reason whatsoever (reason: ghosts). There was the time half a cookie was discovered under the bathroom sink when no one had ever (half) eaten cookies in there (reason: local bakers intent on forcing me to only eat freshly baked goods from their establishments after souring me and making me paranoid about eating cookies in my own home). There were other instances that shook me to the core — but none as disturbing as what I found yesterday.
I had returned from a weekend excursion (thank you, it was very nice) and was filling up the fridge with a selection of wonderous food items to be consumed this upcoming week. As I had just returned (along with the dog), his doggy door had been closed for days. I did what any self-respecting dog owner should do and went to open the gateway to “grass-heaven” so that you-know-who could do his you-know-what in the you-know-outdoors. But when I opened the doggy door, through the crack at the bottom of the plastic flap, I noticed something strange. I kneeled down and pushed open the magnetically-sealed doggy door flap and came face to face with the equivalent of a mobster’s severed horse head.
Acorns. Eight of them, lined up right in front of the door from left to right.
I don’t know about you — but I can’t remember the last time I saw acorns falling around my backyard. In fact, it’s not even the acorn-falling season if you know what I mean. But there in front of my doggy door — eight acorns were lined up next to each other. They weren’t just in a pile or strewn aimlessly around the kitchen stoop — they were arranged in a line. Right there. In front of me.
Now, if you read into it I think your mind will go to the same place as my mind went. Who likes acorns? Not criminals, nor house robbers nor mobsters or hoodlums or teenage thugs. There’s only one group of living, breathing, thinking creatures to whom acorns are the monetary equivalent of a twenty dollar bill. That group?
So for the abnormally intelligent squirrels in my backyard to go into their seasonal storage locker of acorns and place eight of them (an even number) in a symmetrical line right outside the doorway to nirvana (a fridge with food in it) after having one of their own emotionally scarred by a run-in with me after being trapped in the cool confines of an electronic monolith… It must mean the only thing it can mean after over-analyzing all the data:
The squirrels have declared war against me.
I’m not sure what the eight acorns mean exactly. Is it a deadline? Do I have eight hours or eight days or eight weeks or eight months (in squirrel time) before they storm into my home and do something to me and my dog? Am I supposed to take the eight acorns and eat them and therefore accept their customs…? And if I don’t accept their customs and ingest the acorns will they take that as an act of war as well? Do I leave the acorns there? Do I take the acorns inside?
What the hell am I supposed to do with the acorns?
So here I sit, stunned into silence by the events unfolding before me. A message has been left by the counsel of squirrels, of that there is no denying. What that message means exactly and how I should proceed is another step altogether. For if I take the wrong step in the wrong direction I could be putting my entire home in danger.
They’ve declared war on me. I’m sure of it.
Now I just have to figure out what to do.