by Dorothy Hoffman

Created on: September 09, 2009

The Great Squirrel Caper of '93

5 a.m., on a Saturday morning in October 1993. I was awakened by the sound of a flower pot crashing to the floor below my bedroom. Then came the sound of wildly scrambling paws scratching across my hardwood floors, high pitched screeches emitting simultaneously from several directions, random bangings and bumpings, and the frantic, persistent thumping of my guard rabbit, Esther. Something was up, something bad.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself, still half asleep, out of my warm, cozy bed and ventured out to investigate. What I found was five extremely ill-tempered and panicked squirrels desperately scurrying from room to room, up and down the three floors of my normally quiet little Victorian house. I was not prepared for this unexpected visit so early in the morning, and it was not at all the way I would like to have started off the weekend. Squirrels, in the best of circumstances are difficult to reason with. You just can't talk much sense into a gang of furry hoodlums darting madly around your house looking for a way out. Things went from bad to worse fast.

Squirrels were flinging themselves against closed windows, locked doors, and pretty much anything breakable they could find in their paths. If you think herding cats is difficult, try herding hysterical squirrels. I opened as many windows as I could, and propped the front door wide open trying to chase the squirrels, one at a time, toward these escape routes. They were very uncooperative. They hadn't done quite enough damage yet, and clearly thought they needed to knock over a few more objects before making their departure.

Finally, the ordeal was over, the debris swept up, and my brave rabbit (who'd retreated to the safety of her favorite hidey-hole in my home office) had stopped her thumping and returned to her morning nap. I stood in the kitchen gazing up at the large hole in the ceiling where the vandals had made their surprise entrance. Well, this was definitely going to be a problem. Admittedly, the heavy cardboard patch I'd inserted to prevent this sort of event probably wasn't one of my brighter ideas.

Now, I like squirrels as much as the next homeowner whose house has been overrun by the wily little varmints. I've patiently trapped them using the highest quality gourmet peanut butter as bait, and gently transported them, one angry, loudly complaining little bundle of fur at a time, to a nearby nature reserve (in a much more upscale neighborhood than I could afford,

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