Small Tales of hardship and despair. This summer, while I've been absent from blog-postery, I've been participating in a series of mildly aggravating experiences.

#1. I first heard about squirrel invasions a mere few days before it nearly happened to me. A friend of mine works at a rental office for an apartment complex, and she reported that squirrels had been entering their units through unsecured windows with air conditioners. Having a built-in prejudice against those filthy, disease-ridden rodents, I could hardly imagine something so terrible as coming home from work to find a cornered and desperate pair in the process of destroying my home and sanctuary. I was napping on the couch later in the week when I was awakened by - something - happening outside the window. Peering through the blinds, I saw a squirrel sitting on the windowsill, giving me the eye-ball. I tried to frighten it by pounding on the window, but it seemed reluctant to leave; it had already assembled a collection of leaves and twigs - the beginnings of a nest? Immediately my thoughts settled on the other window, outfitted with air conditioner and nothing but a pair of thin plastic accordion walls standing between inner peace and outside turmoil... When I arrived at home from work the next day I saw that one of the filthy beasts was outside the air conditioner, and that it had been chewing on the plastic wall and the wooden window frame; I could actually see its grimy feet beneath the wall, inches from my nose. In a panic I tried to frighten it off - pounding on and shaking the air conditioner, turning it on and off; it took a mighty effort to effect its retreat. In its absence I saw the reason - in the bottom of the window sill, laying on its back and mewing, was a tiny, hairless, blind baby squirrel. I allowed myself a few seconds of shock and revulsion, and then was seized by action. Months prior, in preparation for a sushi party, I had bought several hundred pairs of wooden chopsticks at United Noodles [to the tune of four dollars]. Now, as if possessed by the spirit of some fallen wartime hero, I took up a pair of chopsticks and attempted to negotiate their ends underneath the squeaking squirrel-spawn, without withdrawing the plastic wall in case the mother returned and decided to eat my face. The idea was with the business ends of the chopsticks under the baby and using the edge of the sill as fulcrum, I could catapult its helpless body out of my window and my life - forever. I admit that in my desperation I wasn't very gentle, and may have injured the specimen during this exercise. Before I could accomplish my goal, the mother returned, and I refocused my efforts on antagonizing it sufficiently so that it would never return. After several moments of pushing on the plastic wall and poking its feet with the chopsticks, it finally retreated again, managing to take the baby with it. Immediately I removed the air conditioner from the window and slammed it shut before collapsing in exhaustion.

When the air turned hot again I risked the air conditioner again, trying various tactics - putting tin foil down on the window sill [apparently they don't like to walk on it], spraying the area down with WD-40 [apparently they don't like to smell it], and reinforcing the gaps with styrofoam - but this last effort served only to give the squirrels something additional to chew on. Still, the summer has now passed, and I did defend my apartment's sanctity and honor. Next June, the battle begins anew.