"Aha!" I say. (Yes, I am talking to the dogs now, thank you very much. Apparently, one of the negative effects of not working. No need to harp on the obvious.)
And then I see her. It's a bird! It's a plane! It's "Squirreltastica!"
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Perched in a pretty precarious position up on the shingles of our roof, frantically flicking her tail back and forth, beady little eyes darting over to the fence and back to the (almost 12-year-old) viciously salivating monster below (at least that's what she'll tell the other squirrels tonight), calculating the risk, estimating her chances of survival, and all the while sending out morse-code chirps and grunts to the Squirrel SWAT, who I expect should be arriving very soon...dropping from the sky in tiny little parachutes...with little AK47s strapped to their backs...and filling the yard with smoke bombs...you know, as a diversion.
Oh, God help me. I really do need to get back to work.
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