**Disclaimer-- if you are one of those PETA people who does not even kill the snails in your garden or the cockroaches crawling on your bed then do not read any further. No, go work on your stupid fucking foie gras ban.** Thank you, the animal killing and eating management.
I hate you squirrel. For Breaking into my house. I hate you for eating my chocolate from France that came in a beautiful, thoughtful care package from my husband Friday. I hate you for making a complete mess of my vestibule with your thousands of nibbles on the green walnuts I brought home from the farm. I hate you for being able to fly and climb up flat wooden houses and slip in through a window opened two fucking inches so that I can some fresh fucking air! I hate you for being able to do all your antics upside-down.
I hate that you knocked everything over, even the bowl of oily, stinky artichoke hearts even though you did not even eat them. I hate that I have no idea which bowl of buckwheat groats you stuck your dirty paws and teeth in. I hate that you chewed on plastic and so I know you spent too much time near my toaster on the counter. I hate you for snacking and not even finishing anything. I mean, my god, don't you know how wasteful that is?!
I hate you for making my little house feel violated and unclean.
I hate that even though the neighborhood is filled with fruit and nut trees you chose to ransack my house. I hate that I don't own a gun. I hate that I won't know it's you when I go squirrel hunting and I might kill your enemies instead. I hate that somehow I might make you happy.
I hate that I know my hate is illogical.
I hate you for spending the day in my house. An amazing day I was having at the two farmer's markets I love the most with my friend who will soon be in NYC cheffing because that's where so many great SF chefs go. I hate that SF does not support its great chefs enough to keep them from leaving.
I hate you squirrel. I hate you for chewing on a candy that's meant for display because they are little chocolate eggs wrapped in intricate flowered Italian foil. I hate that you disturbed my neatly laid out still lifes. I hate that now I don't feel safe in my bedroom because I never shut the window when it's not raining. I hate you for creeping me out.
I hate you squirrel for breaking into my house. I hate that even if I could go on a squirrel killing spree I will never kill you. Because you have already trespassed on me and my little abode and all the killing in the world could not make it untrue.
I hate that even if I had bleach in my house and a spray bottle, sanitizing you out of my creeped-out-edness would be impossible. I hate you squirrel. I hate you for using the beautiful canopy of Japanese Maple outside my window as a launching pad for breaking & entering my house. I hate that I now view that tree suspiciously. Like a fucking tree could be an accomplice.
I hate that the upside of this is that now my house is really clean. It could be all the great coffee Michael and I shared from Blue Bottle coffee. I hate that being way too caffeinated could be the reason for feeling totally insane about my squirrel break-in.
I hate you squirrel. For living in the world with me. For being so prevalent in the East Bay. For looking cute when your tail is so fluffy and you are crouching on your hind legs eating acorns with your little hands. I hate you for bringing out the worst in me. And maybe the best. I hate you squirrel for making me feel like you are responsible for my feelings. I hate that we think things "make us" something or other.
I hate you squirrel. For bringing up in me how it feels to be trespassed. And powerless. And scared to be home alone. With windows that open. In nature.
I hate that I know you, squirrel, were just curious and hungry. And that aside from knowing where to return for good eats and snacks, this break-in has already left your tiny speck of a squirrel brain.