This isn't the first time that nature's lashed out at you like this.*

I don't know if I have told you about the squirrels. Granted, depending on who you are you're thinking of different times in my life when squirrels have been a "situation" or you're thinking, "Why would she even have to tell us about squirrels?" Hmm...let's see:

• The summer I was chased and subsequently stalked by a squirrel (Whom I named Mr. Chuckles - think I got that from Seinfeld) Tami - you remember.


• The winter that Mr. Chuckles found me at my new home and terrorized me (not to mention how his gang of thugs terrorized the whole complex...three cars in the parking lot mysteriously breaking down, coincidence? I think not!) Mur - you may remember.


• The squirrel stampede of Boston Commons (ok, maybe not a stampede but that thing was coming for me!)

And now this:

This is the story I meant when I asked if I had told you about the squirrels. Many, many months ago I became privy to a story involving a home invasion, teen angst, family trouble, and murder.

As I retell this story I will change the names of the characters to protect the innocent...and even the not so innocent. As I said, many, many months ago there was someone at work who had an infestation of squirrels in their home. They decided that they would get a squirrel trap (the killing kind) and take care of the situation.

My part in the story comes after the first squirrel has been murdered. I was walking with, we'll call her name Pam, one afternoon when she told me about the squirrel infestation at someone's (who we'll call...John) house. John had told her about his squirrel problem and that he was going to buy a trap. She asked that he buy the humane kind that kills them (softly with his love?*) but he wasn't going to shell out money for a death trap. He informed her a few days later that they had killed one of the squirrels and judging by the size of it, it was a teenage squirrel.

The following conversation ensued:

Me: So, it was a teenage squirrel?

Pam: Yeah

Me: Oh man. He was probably sneaking back into the house after a night out with his friends and BAM! His parent's are probably heartbroken.

Pam: *Laughing* probably! (I have no clue what she said here, my self-centered memory is only good for my side of the conversation).

Me: John's a home wrecker (3.5 seconds of silence) Don't tell him I said that!

Pam: I won't.

About thirty minutes pass by and I am working at my desk. John walks by with a grin on his face and stops.

John: So I hear you heard about my squirrels.

Me: *sheepish grin* yes.

John is still smiling.

John: Yeah, Pam told me your story.

Me: I told her not to tell you!

John: *shrugs shoulders* I thought it was funny. It's okay, she told me not to tell you she told me.

John walks off, I grab the phone and dial Pam's number.

Me: I told you not to tell him! He ratted you out that you ratted me out.

Several months later (yesterday) I relate the story to my coworker and we laugh about it (it helps if you know the two people involved too) and we start saying how we should buy him a little squirrel with a sign that says, "Please don't kill me" or "Home wrecker!" and put it on his desk. Or better yet, Pam should put a picture squirrel with a red lined slashed through it on a slide at our next communications meeting.

P.S. My friend posted this to my Facebook wall yesterday and it was just so appropriate I couldn't resist sharing. ...People really should start to take me more seriously.