|At this point, I'm pretty convinced Satan has a bushy tail|
The squirrels used to wait until a tomato was almost ripe before going at it. I'd come out and the tomato would be starting to blush, and I'd think, I'll wait a couple more days. The next day it'd definitely be turning red, but maybe with a green crown at the top, and I'd say to myself, one day more. Then I'd come out the next day and - chomp! - a squirrel would've taken a big old bite out of it. I was always trying to time it so I'd pick the tomato when it was as ripe as it could be before a squirrel decided to have himself a snack at my expense. It was like a game. A frustrating, maddening, infuriating game.
Now, however, as I have already said, the squirrels aren't even waiting for the tomatoes to get ripe.
I used to think squirrels were cute animals, what with their sleek little bodies and their adorable bushy, feather-like tails. I now see them what they are, watching from treetops, their dark eyes glinting with malice, their perpetually-growing teeth waiting to sink into one of my tomatoes. And as for their bushy tails, I'm pretty sure at this point Satan has an adorable bushy tail.
I've wrapped the tomatoes in plastic mesh and sprinkled them with pepper spray, and I'll set up the Scarecrows - motion-detector water sprinklers. I will get a ripe tomato this summer, fully ripe and untouched by squirrel lips, I will, so help me, I will.
But meanwhile, the thought of it. There are so many, and while individually they are harmless-seeming, there are so many. It's like Hitchcock's The Birds, only with squirrels. The trees are a-swarm with vermin, with sleek little bodies and diabolical bushy tails. Their noses twitch. They twitch.
How will I sleep at night?