Treehouse + Squirrel = Trouble * CAPITAL T * Trouble.

I had a wee problem this winter in the tree-house.  Actually it is was a monster problem.  A problematic problem with freakin’ monster squirrel teeth. This ‘problem’ almost resulted in the death of a squirrel.

I lie.

Does it count if I thought about it?  Because I did.

I thought about it long and hard.

I plotted revenge against a squirrel.

Yes.  A squirrel.

And now I am going to make you help me with my wee plot of squirrel revenge.  I can’t have this much fun alone.  Revenge is heaps of fun tangled with nastiness.  Bad Ass. Awesome. 

This is what my life has come to :

*  I don’t seem to have the time to wash my hair anymore.  It takes a ton of time to nap read books in a treehouse.  I don’t even have any time to waste time on Pinterest anymore. Geez.

*  I haven’t brushed my hair in weeks.  I look like a bush woman from the wild west.

*  I plot revenge tactics against squirrels.

Is this what you are thinking?…..

… She is warped…. someone needs to take a trip to the funny farm …..toot-a-loo Miss Lynnie Pooh, have a nice time in the rubber room at Looneyville …. What’s that gals problem?!…it’s just a squirrel.  For Pete’s sake.

Well let me tell you a story.

ONCE UPON A TIME

I WANTED TO KILL A SQUIRREL.

Why?!!

  Squirrels moved into the treehouse this winter.  

Imagine the gall?  They checked into the treehouse motel.  Mine.  They made themselves at home.

Little bastards fellas.

How did they get in?  There is NO ENTRY if you don’t know the secret clubhouse password. Sort of like a girls club. Where my friends and I meet.   <— you can read about our girls club and my fellow gal pal & blogger Janet, here.

We do let boys in.  Sometimes.  Not squirrels.  If you attempt an entry without the secret password, we gals throw water balloons at you from the treehouse porch.

 That is how we roll.

I guess the squirrel missed that memo.  Apparently all bets are off if you are a squirrel.

Enter at free will.  Little furry bugger.

Can you feel the steam coming out of my ears? Actually, FLAMES. I had flames billowing out of my ears when I walked into the little squirrel junk yard piece of heaven treehouse this spring.

I am about to tell you about my tree-house squirrel catastrophe. Before I do that, I think you should watch this BBC clip on talking animals.  It was my coping mechanism to get me through my dark squirrel times.

Go ahead and watch it.  I will wait for you.  It is HILARE !!  LOL :

In fact, that BBC video saved him. Had I not had that funny mojo video stuck in my head , there would have been a squirrel murder. FOR SURE.

 What happened this winter?!

A squirrel ( and probably a circus show of all his buddies) trashed the tree-house. He had a party.  He invited all his furry, smelly bad mannered buddies.  They chowed down on three mattresses.   They made squirrel condos in the mattresses.  I am sure they did squirrel nasties in there. They probably made squirrel babies. It was surely unprotected squirrel sex.

I am only putting all these tree-house pictures in here to cheer myself up.  Well, and you too.  Are you feeling sorry for me yet?

If not, here’s more…..

When I walked into the tree-house in the spring, it smelled like a combination of goat urine and camel spit.  Not that I have ever smelled that, but it I am guessing it is pretty close to what I smelled in the treehouse. Grotty. To the max.  I am still trying to get that smell outta my head.  I need a smell exorcist.

If you are a consistent reader of my blog, I know you have an imagination.  Now is the time to use it.   I need your help for squirrel payback.  Help a sis-ta out.  Don’t worry.  This fella deserves a good stare down.  He is still running around Casa-Knowlton. He is no doubt shredding the outhouse toilet paper to shreds, right now, as we speak, with a grin on his face.

 

I need your help.  Squirrel payback time.  All together now:

1.  Imagine you are standing at the treehouse and you have spotted the dreaded squirrel.  Just standing there.  Looking all innocent like.

 2.  Now focus. Get your MAD FACE on. Get serious.  Serious, mad, scary face.  The kind of face you make…that if you looked in the mirror….you would scare yourself.

That’s it.  You got it.

3.  OK, now I want everyone to stare at that squirrel.  STARE HARD.  He deserves it.

Note:

Is there a squirrel protection society? If so, they are probably going to come knocking on my door any minute now.  You are all in trouble for staring down a squirrel.

 

4.  Keep that stare on.  GLARE.  The kind of GLARE where the squirrel is now looking behind him, and all around him. He is really starting to wonder if  it is, in fact, HIM that everyone is looking at.  Could it be?

5.  Now he is getting embarrassed. He thinks he has something stuck on his butt.  He takes a double check.  Nope.  Nothing on his butt.

6.  Yup. It is him.

 Run for the hills Mr. Bad ass Squirrel.

I think it is only fair, since I made all of you stare down a squirrel, that I should tell you the story of what the hellion squirrel did.

MY WINTER CONVERSATION WITH THE HUBS :

Me: Hey Hun, have you checked the treehouse lately, to see if there are any animals in there?

Michael : Oh, Yes.

Me : Dude. You answered that way too quickly. Did you really check the tree-house?

Michael : Yes. For sure. I went out there, and looked all around, and everything is fine. No biggie. No probs.

Me : Are you pulling the wool over my eyes?

Michael : I would never do that {he already looks guilty}.

Michael: How about I make dinner tonight ? You relax.

Me : {aka SUCKER}

P.s.

‘ VINTAGE SINK’ actually means that I stole it from my friends yard. They had plans to plant flowers in it.  I had other plans. True story.  Sorry, Chris and Heather. If you are looking for your sink…I have no idea where it is.

 

Michael:  I will keep checking the treehouse this winter if it makes you feel any better. It’ll be fine.  It’s a treehouse.  Not world peace.  It will manage.

Me: {I bought that argument}

 

SPRING :

Me : …..Walking into the treehouse in spring…….

Three mattresses EATEN ALIVE by a squirrel and his big butt family.

 It looked like a pillow fight with Edward Scissor hands. 

Me :  Oh my,  Holy Mother of &*^%, what the what what, huh? ! Whaaaaaaat ?!

Michael : Hey little Miss potty mouth. Have you thought about a career in truck driving after your blogging career? *grin*

Me: Bite me….*shrieking* … What happened to all THREE MATTRESSES in the tree-house?!!!

Actually, I didn’t over react like that.   I totally over reacted like that.  Technically, I lost my mind.  I had an out of body experience. It was as if the squirrel had actually affected world peace.

Well he did.

My peace.

Little bastard.

This is why I drink.

Me : Hey hun, come have a look at this *** demolished mattress scene *** ( I wrote that calmly, but actually, I think I screamed it from the tree-house porch). I even banged on my keyboard keys as I typed this.

 I’m certain I spewed green and my head did a 360*

Michael: What? How did that happen ?? So odd.  When I checked the mattresses they looked awesome before. Weird.  A mystery.  Hmmm.

You see, Michael is as calm as a clam.  He walked off as if nothing happened.  He didn’t blink an eye.

Zip. Nada. Zero.

Me: Did you REALLY look at the mattresses this winter?!!  You turned them over, and you really checked them? Truth ?!

Michael : Uhhhm. Uh-ha.

Note: I am not sure who had the hot flash first.

Me. Michael. Or the squirrel.

Short time passes…Perfect timing really.  NOT.  I was prepping the treehouse for a photo shoot with Our Homes Magazine.  How timely.  A photo shoot.  On top of photo shoot prep, I now had to do a BURNING (aka mattress bonfire).  I had tons of time to do that. NOT. There is really nothing to do when you prep for a photo shoot. Can I say NOT, again?

 Easy.

~ SCREAM ~

Me: If you want to check the mattresses now, they are on the fire pit. There are some hefty flames coming out of them. Kind of like what is coming out of my ears right now.

 FLAMES.

The squirrels made homes inside every mattress. How could I ever sleep on that again?  It would be like Amity-ville squirrel horror.  A freak show in my mattress. Ewww.

Yes, more photos. I still need some cheering up.  Or wine.  I’m not fussy.

 In fact, just bring a case of wine.

 

It is now summer and every time I see a squirrel pass me, I dart glazes at him.   Like eyeball weapons.  I am sure he can feel my burning glaze on the back of his head.  The bad boy just sits there. Stares at me. With his mouth full.  Of Mattress Fur.

It has been months.  It took me this long to write about it.  I suppose I am not over it.   I may have to remortgage my house to pay for the ‘winter-chow-down-of-a-mattress’ squirrel party.  Those squirrels may be small, but they have superman might when it comes to chowing.  If you ever want to wage a war, and do some damage on a building, invite a squirrel. My only recourse is to hope that the fat bastard squirrel is so full of mattress stuffing that he is constipated.  Dude, that is what happens when you eat fur balls for an entire winter.

Constipation =  Payback.

Mother Nature Style.

I think Mr. Squirrel should pray.

Dear Buddha

I want to have your peace

your wisdom, your serenity, your divine nature

your acorn hat.

Love, Squirrel.