Gone Squirrely

 Squirrels. Cute little nut burying, squirrels. We had a pet squirrel and he used to eat right out of my sisters hand. You could always count on Charlie the squirrel. He'd scurry down that maple tree to enjoy a peanut or whatever item we deemed squirrel food. A crust of a peanut butter sandwich, popcorn or chips. Charlie was fat. I'm sure his cholesterol was through the roof. Charlie didn't care, he was getting hand-fed. It was better than Nut Grub. His grub got delivered right to his mouth. The thing we didn't count on was his kids taking over the back yard.

My mother had a beautiful back yard. I say had beautiful back yard, that is before the squirrels took it over. One day my mother had a meltdown. I'll just say that the squirrels finally made her squirrelly . The definition of squirrelly is: restless and unpredictable. Which is true, for squirrels and my mother.

My dad seeing how they were make my mother nuts, decided that for the good of the neighborhood and my mothers mental health, to trap the little buggers. Everyday he'd take a trip to Memorial park and drop off what he had caught. But just like that cat, the squirrel came back the very next day. Maybe not. I'm sure there were many dependents of Charlie raiding the neighborhood. My dad couldn't keep up so he threw in the towel.

My mother was now on a mission. Mom heard that if you put moth balls in your garden the squirrels would leave your plants alone. Our whole yard, back and front was littered with little stinky white balls. There was Charlie. My mother was peeking through the drapes incognito like. Eureka! She thought. Not Charlie. He looked down and thought look at these enormous breathe mints. Charlie had one in his mouth when my mother bolted through the screen door. Yelling something only a squirrel could understand. Those are moth balls! She shouted. Charlie not phased by her attempt to scare him looked up and said, these moth balls taste a lot like tulip bulbs. Of course the conversation between my mother and Charlie is speculative and meant for your enjoyment. But if squirrels could talk, could you imagine the conversation.

Back in his hole in the tree called home, Charlie is at the table with his family. In front of him was all that possible edible stuff he had collected. The main course no surprise, is nuts. Everything else is questionable. And everything that is questionable gets buried like most questionable things do. Charlie, a resident of a predominantly Catholic yard, says grace. His wife and kids bow their heads. Dear Lord thank you for this meal. Please welcome uncle Pete to the other side even if the other side was not the other side of the road. Amen.

Meanwhile. In a laundry room not too far a way, a squirrelly woman is concocting a witches brew. I have to clarify here, I am to blame for the super-soaker, everything else was my mothers idea. She had learn listening to a gardening show on the radio, that squirrels didn't like cayenne. Aha! Her eyes gleamed with excitement. Her pulse quickened with the anticipation of vermin warfare. She began to fill the weapon of doom. Hot water and pepper, lots and lots of pepper. You could hear the sound of her high pitched laughter. He, he ,he. I'll get you my pesty and your little squirrel family too!

My mother, decked out in camouflage, hid behind a bush and waited. Her hands clutched the weapon of doom. It was cocked and ready. The hot water and infused cayenne pepper mixture would finally wipe out the vermin. She was like Bill Murray in Caddyshack, talking out of the side of her mouth. I must kill the squirrels! The squirrels must die!

It never occurred to her that maybe she should have done some target practicing first. It was too late for that now, Charlie was at twelve o'clock. She wiped her eyes, steadied her hands and let a steam fly. Charlie didn't know what hit him. Nothing hit him just the thought that this squirrelly lady had finally gone over the edge. My mother was in hot pursuit. Charlie ran up and down the fence like it was game. His family looked down from above and laughed their little squirrelly asses off. Soon the battle was over and the barrel was empty. My mother looked in disbelief. Charlie got away but the fence didn't. That brand new white fence was not as white. The battle scares could be seen from one end to the next. Like a never ending wave of cayenne graffiti. She tagged our backyard fence like it was a gang territory.

Charlie is gone and so is my mother but the memories like that once white fence lingers on. I wonder if those stains ever came out.