They're back. The freaking lethal, rabid, sent-from-hell-to torture-me squirrels are back. And they are eating our house.
You think I'm kidding? Take a look at this:
Sometimes I sit in our upstairs window seat and comb Lucy or Olivia. More and more often when I do, I hear the rattle of saber-toothed claws scratching at the walls. Pounding used to scare the squirrels away but no more. Apparently, they've evolved. I pounded on the wall the other day and a squirrel moseyed--swear to God, moseyed--out from under the eaves and sat directly in front of me in the window. He was all attitude and did everything but stick out his tongue at me.
Blair and I were outside yesterday and it was the first time I'd really looked at the damage the squirrels had done.
"Oh my God!" I said. "What can we do to stop them?"
"BB gun," said Blair. (He was kidding. I think.)
"We're not shooting squirrels," I said.
"We need to kill a couple of them, at least," said Blair. "Show them who's boss."
"So what, we're going to have little squirrel heads on stakes in the yard as a warning?" I asked. "Might there be a Plan B?"
There isn't. We're apparently going to sit at home, like the yuppie wimps we are, and let rodents with fur gnaw our house down to the bare bones.
Does anyone have any suggestions for ridding ourselves of revenge-seeking squirrels? Anything that doesn't involve a BB gun? (Although I'm warming up to the idea of stakes.)