You are dispicable rodents of great mischief, and I no longer harbor fondness for you in my heart. I used to say that if I was one day forced to become an animal, I would be a squirrel. You were a pleasure to watch as you innocently scampered this way and that, and I greatly enjoyed your fluffy cheerfulness. I now know that you are dastardly creatures of destruction and ruin. How did I discover the truth? Let me tell you.
My daughter likes birds. So we got her a bird feeder. Did birds frequent this feeder? No. You did. Despite all my best efforts, your aerobatics gave you the victory and the bird seed. I moved this feeder to another location, sure that it was at last safe from your thievery. 2 hours later, I came home to this:
The glass was shattered, the wooden roof fractured, and the seed scattered. In defeat, I left the destroyed feeder for you and your chipmunk (your quieter, and far less annoying cousins) to clean up. I then nievely hung another feeder, this time, one that was "squirrel proof." The next day you had done this:
A pot that I had on a shelf near by had served as your launching point. Down it went as you flew towards your next target, and my porch had scattered dirt and broken pot to accompany the broken feeder.
Mirroring you that morning, was Leilani. She was quite interested in your antics, and desired to eat her breakfast in a similar fashion. You are a bad example.
I noticed, however, that you had not managed to get in to my new feeder. VICTORY! I knew I had won. Oh how wrong I was. I caught you in the act by lunchtime.
You learned how to work the latched cover. You fiend.
My porch no longer was the tranquil, happy place on which to spot feathered singers. It was battle scared, rodent infested, and devoid of those lovely little musicians I had so hoped to attract. I swept the porch, removed the feeders, and retreated in defeat.
Squirrels, you are malicious little buggers and I wish you would leave my porch alone.
Your former fan.