Wow, he really is a spooky fellow! I’m not talking the literary genius of horrifying tales, here. Nope, my Steven King, is a squirrel Honey carelessly pissed off one day. I told Honey not to do it, but hey, when does he ever listen to me? Here’s how the haunting began…
Me. “He’s back.”
Honey. “Where? Where!”
I roll my eyes. “On the fence by the bougainvillea.”
Honey begins to kick the rocks around the pool area, looking for a good one. “I’ll get rid of him.”
I guess at this point I should mention that Steven is a little psycho-nut-job who climbs our screens and tries to pee on our heads when we do the gardening. Apparently, he thinks this property is his and wants to reclaim it for the harem,of equally uncouth females, he’s rapidly procreating with. Seriously, his little admirers sprawl on the edge of the birdbath with flagrant disregard to proper decorum. Imaging the little hussies, legs spread and lying on their backs while they wait for him to finish his daily: I’m going to go medieval on those human squatter’s tear-up, before he pleasures them in various ‘V’ joints in our oak tree. Got the picture?
But here’s me, worried. WTF? “You’re not going to hurt him?”
Honey turns to me with a bland expression that says, ‘how long have we been married?’ Right. He’s never hurt an animal – no matter how annoying they’ve been.
I was still anxious. “So, what’s the plan?”
That’s when he gives me his devious grin. “Scare the little pecker.”
He exits the screen enclosure with a small rock in hand. I’d be worried about his aim, except he was the pitching coach for our son’s varsity baseball team, so yeah, he knows what he’s doing. He let’s it rip and right on point, it hits the fence board about half a foot beneath Steven. Steven, understandably stunned, launches himself through the air. Unfortunately, none of us, including Steven, figured on the rock bouncing once off the fence and then off the ground, when it shot up and hit his back-end right below his tail.
Honey grimaced. “He’s not only a pain in the ass. After that? He has a pain in the ass.”
“Awww, the poor guy. Is he okay?”
Is he okay? Poor guy? What was I thinking?
Sheesh, since it happened he’s stepped up his going Medieval on us. He’s taken to lounging on that fence and chomping on all my Hibiscus buds before they have a chance to bloom – right in front of us. Staring at us with those beady black eyes, taunting us with his arrogance. It’s like he’s thumbing his little nose up. It’s unnerving. Maybe he is Stephen King? And, those girls of his? are out of control. They’re digging all over the place and tossing dirt on our pool deck, and this morning? Honey is going to freak out when he see this. This morning, good old Steve was on his back in our terra cotta planter box. The one special place Honey has designated for his prized golden tomato plant. A much loved and catered to plant – that had a small, but plump tomato growing on it. I say had, because well, Steven was…how can I describe it? Hmm.. ? Think a Roman eating grapes from a vine. Crapatola! I’m almost tempted to go to the grocery store and buy a good looking pear tomato to replace it. Seriously, I think Honey loved that tomato more than he loves me. He certain paid more attention to it.
*sigh* This is not going to be good, but damn! That friggin’ furry guy made me LMAO when I saw him chomping on it. Gee, who knew Steven and I would find some common ground. I always hated that tomato plant on my deck.