So the package Dina sent turned out to have a caffeine-crazed hitchhiker, and things got a little…well, weird.
He made a noise like Sam Kinison in a blender, and it seemed somehow…familiar.
Now powered by capsaicin AND caffeine, he bolted into the living room.
Leaping to the floor, he came face to face with the dogs, who had ambled in to see what the ruckus was.
Miss B just looked thoughtful.
“THAT’S IT!” I yelled, and for once I was quicker than a squirrel. I grabbed him, and the dogs looked disappointed. “You. You’re going somewhere to calm down–”
“Oh Jesus,” I breathed. “Your eye.”
“Holy Christ on a cracker.” I almost dropped him. “Neo?”
“WHY DOES EVERYONE CALL ME THAT? MY NAME’S NED. SHORT FOR ZOLTAR.”
“Of course it is.” I was already heading for the back door. “And you’re going outside.”
“BUT IT’S COLD OUT THERE!”
“How would you know? You’ve been in a box for a week.”
“I’LL BE GOOD! I’M AGORAPHOBIC!”
“No squirrels allowed in here. Go down the stairs, knock on the glass door, and tell the two idiots who live there you’re their new roommate.”
“I CAN’T LIVE WITH OTHER RODENTS! I’VE GOT ISSUES–I’M A GERMOPHOBE!”
“Then you shouldn’t have been in my kitchen.” I tore the back door open. “Hey. Do you know kung fu?”
“WHAT? NO! I’M ASTHMATIC, MONKEY, BE REASONA–”
“Good.” And I heaved him outside. Fred and George could deal with it, if he got past Willard. I know, I’m a horrible human being. But no more squirrels in the house.
Unfortunately, about a week later, some-damn-thing-else happened, but that’s (say it with me) another blog post…