War is hell. More so for the loser.
For the better part of the past few months my Husband has been waging a war with a squirrel. He’s super stressed (Jason, not the squirrel) because it’s been digging in the planter boxes on our balcony. He’s super cute (the squirrel, not… well both of them are super cute) and I’ve nicknamed him Theodore. I don’t think that was appreciated.
Jason is an avid gardener with a green thumb and ambitious plans. Theodore is (apparently) a “dirty mother fucker without any respect.” Jason hates him unconditionally. He is also Theodore’s monkey. I don’t know with absolute certainty that Theodore wakes up every morning and dreams of different ways to torment his monkey, but I suspect that this is the case. If Theodore could talk, he’d say, “Jump little monkey, jump,” and Jason would answer, “How high?”
It started innocently enough, with an occasional comment (or mutter) from my husband about something digging up his plants. It quickly escalated into a targeted attack. He (Theodore, not Jason) has a personal vendetta against us and is bound and determined to destroy every last plant we own.
“Leave me out of this,” I have instructed.
I have tried to be supportive and reason with him (Jason, not Theodore) but it is no use. “He’s just a squirrel,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “Squirrels dig shit up.” I can tell that wasn’t appreciated. I am charged with not understanding and “laughing” when he launches into his bitter diatribes about Theodore’s shenanigans (my word, not his) and drones on endlessly about his plans to thwart the next strike. He is right of course, I do not understand and I am usually laughing. My lack of empathy is becoming a problem.
A series of complex barriers have recently been erected to keep Theodore at bay. Miniature fences have been built, enormous shards of glass have been strategically placed and overturned mason jars now sit over the most precious seedlings.
“Oh cute,” I have been accused of saying. “You’ve made him an obstacle course.”
These cleverly constructed barricades have done nothing to dissuade Theodore from stopping by for a snack. In fact, I think quite the opposite is true. He is enjoying the challenge.
The other night as we were sitting quietly watching TV, Jason abruptly leapt to his feet and charged out the patio door. He hurdled the railing like an Olympian and disappeared into the foliage. I saw trees being shaken and heard words too foul to repeat. When he returned a few moments later he was grinning from ear to ear. He was also exhausted and covered in dirt.
“Did you get him, Hunny? I asked.
“I think I scared him off.”
“That’s good…”
I don’t know where this ends. A squirrel is always going to dig for seeds and nuts and Man is always going to begrudge him for doing so in his back yard. Jason and Theodore have drawn their lines in the sand and neither one is going to back down. It’s a war of wills.
I fear the squirrel is winning.
All I can do is silently pray for winter.