Ok. I swear that more actual writing is to come. I just couldn’t resist sharing this little ditty (diddy? As in P? I can’t decide) from today:
I was sitting on the couch in my living room, eating my lunch off my lap desk, when I heard a loud, piercing, soul-crunching cry. The noise was coming from my kitchen where my new dehydrator was dehydrating a whack load of fruit on its inaugural mission (welcome to my Saturday). Yes, I paid only $30 for it from XS Cargo*, and yes, it smelled like burning plastic, but was it really exploding already?!
*Update: The next day, it died.
Grumbling, I hoisted my meal off my lap. I walked to the kitchen, all the while noting that I don’t know where my fire extinguisher is located. Huh. Luckily, nothing was wrong. The noise was coming from the window. I looked outside. Here is what I found.
(PUMP UP THE VOLUME. And ignore my chuckling halfway through when I realize both how freaking crazy the squirrel is and how freaking crazy I must look to my neighbours. And ignore the fact that I talk to it at the end.)
Sometimes, I can still hear the screams.
Earlier this year, I said I could have a squirrel as a pet. I even argued that squirrels were not rodents…
His name is Scrappy. He is my friend.