Today my husband tried to feed our psycho flea-infested squirrel.
We know he's flea infested because he walks around itching himself all the time. Also, we strongly suspect that he might have been the reason *I* had fleas in this apartment all summer. (It was awful--I was the only thing in here they had to eat, and my legs looked like I had some sort of disease.)
We know he's psycho because he tries to get into the apartment, we think because he wants food. Twice now we caught him clinging to the window screens looking in--straight at us, no less. The little bugger has no fear.
He also makes a lot of noise. I never knew that squirrels made noise until I lived in my last apartment and a bunch of them were chasing each other around during mating season ... but seriously, it's a rasping, shrieking noise that sounds like something dying a horribly painful death. Not at ALL something I would have imagined for them.
Now, I do not say any of this because I hate squirrels. I like them. I like their tails. I think they're cute. But when Keith and I got out of the car this afternoon and the squirrel started following us towards our porch, I scurried inside pretty quickly.
And Keith got a slice of bread and went to feed him.
Apparently, however, this squirrel is too good for our bread. He didn't want any. I'm not sure what he thinks he'll find in the apartment if he doesn't like our food, but there you go.