The Difference Between You and Me: Squirrels
I am like you in many ways, reader. We hit the spacebar harder than any other key. Freshly washed sheets bring us immense joy. And we are afraid of jellyfish.
But there is one major difference between us.
I have been tracking the relationships between human and squirrel for all of my life. You have not.
So I have done my best to piece together a timeline for your education. My findings support the thesis that squirrels are becoming less afraid of humans, and that should make us humans very afraid.
Late 1990s / Early 2000s
I was a child. And I would spend my summer days forgetting about house chores assigned to me, like dusting, and instead allocate my time toward luring in squirrels for a closer look. Raiding the cupboards, I usually opted for some kind of mixed nut variety. I’d leave them in piles on our back deck and wait, cross-legged style, on the floor of our kitchen, which had a sliding glass door that looked out to the deck. No success. So then I tried closing the blinds, obviously the squirrels could see me waiting for them. Negative. I then left trails of nuts from the trees in our backyard to the deck. To no avail. I tried fruit. Then, fruit snacks. Last night’s leftovers. Nothing. At one point, I considered duct taping my sister to the deck. Maybe they liked human flesh.
Point is, I tried hard to befriend the bastards. They wanted nothing to do with me.
2010ish
Seemingly overnight, something changed. The squirrels decided to not scatter in the presence of humans. One day, I walked on sidewalk paths, and squirrels hurried up trees at the mere sound of a leaf crunching under my step. The next, they stood their ground, and I found myself stutter-stepping, suddenly questioning the reality that the sidewalk was there for me, not the squirrels.
2019
By 2019, I hadn’t seen a squirrel by itself in years. They operated in packs now. Always three or four dancing around the trunk of a tree. A coordinated effort to terrify me as I strolled by. My daily walks turned into opening scenes from true crime TV. A nice young gentleman out for a walk, listening to a self-help podcast. Something eerie in the crisp evening autumn air. I’d spot one of the beady-eyed buggers ahead, counting his nearby backups. They’d remain still as statues until I was certain they were standing down. And right at that moment, as if one shouted NOW!, they’d take off, skipping faster than my radar could track, swirling around in a synchronized attack. I would take off running or flinch so hard I’d swerve off the sidewalk path. One time, I slammed into an oncoming jogger. “Watch it, man!” he uttered. “The squirrels are…” my plea fading out as he continued his stride.
COVID Times
As we retreated into our homes, squirrels did the opposite. I’ll hand it to the bushy tailed freaks. They capitalized on a timeframe when their number one predator remained parked at home. I’m a big fan of the new working from home setup, but I do go for a drive most evenings in hopes of letting the bastards know our tanks still operate.
One of my friends was renovating his home last October. He and his family had moved out for the time but left Halloween candy out for neighborhood kids. Fast forward to them moving back in after the construction was complete. They kept finding scraps of candy around the house. In potted plants. Random doorways. Under cabinets. He thought his wife might’ve been hiding midnight snack evidence. His wife figured he was doing the same. Turns out, a squirrel had moved in during the renovation, and the clawed creature had stashed away some of the Halloween candy.
I’ll leave you with one piece of advice, in the inevitable event that squirrels take over our society. From my observations, the furry demons run exclusively in an unpredictable zig-zag manor. So when you’re running away from the bastards, run in a straight line.