The Animals. They're watching me.

Another conversation with myself. Normal me is in normal type, sarcastic me is in bold.

---------------------------------

Sigh. I need help. I'm having a problem.

(What? Again? You're such the drama king. Is your iPod not working? Computer being shitty? Heart all aflutter? C'mon ... spill it.)

I think I'm being stalked.

(Oh jeebus. You're so sad. Who'd stalk YOU?)

Animals.

(Are you off your meds? Or on too many? Animals are stalking you?)

Yeah.

(Please do elaborate.)

About two months ago, I left for work one morning and was confronted by the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on:

(Awww, he's a cute little albino squirrel. How is he stalking you?)

He stood there staring me down for a bit. Almost challenging me to cross his path. He backed up and let me get to my car rather than scurrying away like the gray squirrels do. Over the next couple of days, he was watching me. From the tree, and from bushes.

(WHAT? A squirrel watching you? You must be on the crack again. You got some when you were back in Youngstown, didn't you?)

No, really. He was watching me.

(You need a hobby.)

Seriously. But wait, there's more.

(Oh, do continue.)

Today, as I left, there was a bird sitting on my windshield wiper.

(A bird?)

Yeah.(Okay, so that is a bird on your wiper.)

And like the squirrel, he didn't move. He just stood there, watching me. I unlocked the car, he didn't fly away. I opened the door, got in the car, closed the door, started the car and he was still sitting there. Staring at me.

(Really?)

Yeah. So I figured he'd fly away when the car started moving. He didn't. I got to the end of my street, still there. Made a left turn, down to the stop sign, still there. Was doing 35 miles per hour, little fucker was STILL on my wiper. Finally, at the light, I turned on the wiper and only after it hit the 45-degree angle did he fly away.

(Wow. That is weird.)

That's what I'm saying.

(Okay. Remind me to avoid you during lightning storms.)

Thanks. Now just go away. You're no help.

(Go play trivia, whiney boy. Hey, is that chipmunk there under the flowers? I think he's wearing a headset ... probably calling your whereabouts into the Animal Assassination Committee.)