Dear Mr. Squirrel,
It has come to my attention that you sir have launched a full-scale war on my garden.
Ever since the encounter on the porch, where we both froze—hands and paws up in the air—facing each other not knowing what would happen next.
Then I moved only slightly. You scurried up the stairwell post and onto the ledge of the window but not before turning to glare at me one more time before doing your Mission Impossible-style leap through the window. I knew then that you had a personal vendetta against little ol’ human me.
Recently you saw me coming down the alley, looking at me with such scorn while biting into one of my ripened tomatoes. Ripened! You threw it down in that careless I know where I can get more manner that squirrels do before escaping up the light pole.
I lovingly took that perfectly ripe tomato seeing all the bite marks on it and sadly placed it back in my garden to mourn it’s wrongful death.
But NO! The next day, it was gone because you stole it. You also stole a green tomato and ate half of it before tossing it in front of my garage.
I gave you my peanuts and leftover bread. Yet you continue your onslaught on my tomatoes and yes even tearing off a baby pepper. Why are you such an asshole, Mr. Squirrel? Have I wronged you in a past life? Are you so much of an asshole you specifically target my garden because for whatever reason, I piss you off? I have not killed your family. Please stop tormenting me and my garden by taking a metaphorical shit on the work I do.
That is all.
A person who loves her garden.
And loves animals too. The nice ones.