I think we can all agree that the world has gone freaking crazy.
Like flip city crazy.
Whether I’m in the line at the market, pumping gas or flipping someone off, gently reminding them it’s not okay to text and drive—I swear–there’s a special brand of madness out there.
This weekend it felt different, more virulent than the generic cray, cray we’ve been living with for close to a year. You know what I mean—the up is down, black is white, and truth are lies reality that we are all attempting to navigate without losing our minds.
“Snap out of it!”
And we can’t even blame the full moon you guys, it’s too early!
Friends told me that they argued almost to the point of a duel at dawn over issues they barely care about.
Insecurity loomed large.
Our mail carrier (who drives at a glacial pace) got broadsided at the end of our block.
And I ate pie. All weekend. Like, the entire pie.
That wasn’t the only display of cray at our house this weekend. The wildlife, which you know if you read this blog has overrun our house, well, it upped the ante.
“We have a crazy squirrel”, Raphael informed me as we sat down to play cards on the patio Saturday afternoon.
“That sounds like an understatement. Have you met the squirrels around here?”
“I’m not kidding”, he continued, unamused by me. “It either has rabies or it ate some rat poison.”
“Wow. Those are terrible odds”, I replied, trying my best to stiffel a giggle. “Hey, how can you tell when a squirrel is…you know…crazy?” I was trying to make a point. I knew the squirrel hadn’t eaten poison. After the summer we all had, the entire neighborhood has rat fatigue. All our poison stations are empty. Besides, as intended, the openings are too small for the squirrels to get to the poison.
I know these things. Raphael does not.
“All I can say is it’s not acting normal.”
No one is acting normal anymore. No one.
Not our elected officials, not our relatives, not even our beloved national pastime! When the final score of a five-plus hour World Series Game is more like a football score—12-13. Normal is so far in the rearview mirror it has disappeared on the horizon.
Besides, what is normal squirrel behavior anyway? My observation has been that they run around our backyard like lunatics, hiding peanuts and fucking like…squirrels. Not a bad gig.
When I pressed him for details he just said it was acting “weird”, taunting the dog and then barely making a clean get-away.
I brushed it off. I had to survive. My experience with the fauna in our neighborhood this year has given me a form of PTSD.
Raccoons, and skunks and rats—oh my!
I just couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that the squirrels had now jumped the track.
Now, let me set the scene for this last part.
There’s a dog running around and two adults enjoying a couple of hours of cards. There’s music playing both inside and outside and patio doors open to catch a rare, cool, late October breeze.
In a nutshell…a peanut shell—there’s noise, activity, and broad daylight…and a crazy-ass squirrel lurking inside under a cabinet like Kato from the Pink Panther, waiting for us to come back in the house.
When we did—all hell broke loose. The house went full metal cray.
“That damn squirrel is in here!” Raphael yelled as he held Ruby back by the collar.
There was screaming. Even from the squirrel.
It ran into the fireplace and hid (not very well I might add) among the twigs and leaves I collect throughout the year for kindling.
The dreaded boom came out. The death broom. But Raphael was able to quickly sweep the daft little fellow back onto the patio where he stopped, fixed his hair, and did the Macarena.
Great! Now the wildlife is nuts. What’s next? Attack of the killer gardenia?
I give up.
Carry on,
xox
