Dear Mr. Squirrel,
You’re an asshole.
Look, I’m not an unreasonable person, I get that you’re probably in panic mode right now foraging for food before winter comes. It’s what you do. And I get that you are a completely spoiled suburbanite who has a dumpster full of half-eaten food at your disposal 100 feet away from my patio door. But for the love of all things holy, go find another dumpster. There’s a really nice one down the block, the other critters told me so. I swear to sweet baby Jebus that if I have to pry one more slimy chicken bone out of Hazy’s clenched jaw and risk losing a finger when I take the dogs out, I will let go of Princess’s leash the next time she takes off running after you. She’s been trying to catch you for years and I’m ’bout to let her. And if I watch you climb up my screen door to get to my neighbor’s balcony upstairs so you can dig through her plants to hide your disgusting treasures, in turn sprinkling me with dirt like rain, the screen door is coming down.
The cupcake you left on my patio table next to a mini puddle of your pee the other day was a sweet gesture but my birthday was last month. The half-eaten avocado I found under my windshield wiper this morning was a nice touch but I prefer my avocados shmeared on sandwiches. The psycho screeching sound you make at me when you’re up in the tree, you know the one, reeee-AWWW, reee-AWWW, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? Are you threatening me? You gonna jump? Attack? What? It’s like you’re taunting me. And the last squirrel that did that ended up, well, still making that sound at me the next day. But seriously, stop it. It’s creepy.
Now be a good little squirrel and go play in traffic with all of your friends.
Hugs and kisses,