Manchester & Trafford Pest Control

I wish my squirrels were as productive as this one. At least I could pimp ‘em out like Twiggy, here, make ‘em pay rent. STEPHEN PINGRY/Tulsa World

Proof that I love animals.

Love me some animals — and I don’t mean for eating. Not just, anyway.

Nothing can wring a tear from my dark-circled eye like that dang ASPCA commercial, with the puppies and kittens staring doe-eyed in slo-mo through cage bars, wondering why they’re abandoned and when I’m coming to rescue them. Lawsy, I even chose to have the ASPCA emblazoned across my debit card (before I realized it would have a big-as-gay-Dallas wicker basket of freakin’ kittens wearing pink and purple collars on it, but I have it, nonetheless).

But I’m about ready to kill me some squirrels. Apparently, I have some in my attic. Not that I’ve seen them; I’ve only heard them.

Even though I’m usually a deep sleeper, a thud woke me up in the wee hours of Thursday morning — something above the ceiling. In the attic.

My first thought, of course, was, “There’s someone in my attic!” I hadn’t even watched a scary movie recently to rationalize that immediate thought, but I could picture what he looked like — the Pearl District Grocery Cart Killer who almost killed me with his Warehouse Market grocery cart on Halloween night. I’m not sure how he got in, but he was up there, ready to push his cart through the ceiling and … I don’t know, cart me to death or something.

Anyway, after a minute or two of wide-eyed wondering in terror, I heard something more of a scurry — something like a big, fat squirrel.

As far as I know, I’ve never had a squirrel infestation before; but I remember what the cat-sized ones in Maple Ridge sounded like when I lived in a garage apartment there. Seriously, they were the size of lynxes, and they’d wake me up weekend mornings racing across the roof of my house. It was the exact same sound — only closer to my bed, which totally creeps me out.

My first thought was to burn the house down, but apparently insurance won’t pay out with arson. Not if you’re caught, anyway.

Someone else recommended shooting them. I don’t own a gun (glue ones don’t count, I assume), so I’d have to hire someone to do it. And, perhaps, blow a hole through my roof, which seems slightly counter-productive to squirrel-riddance.

Are there humane squirrel herders? Do you know one? Please alert me. In the mean time, I’m haunted by thoughts of squirrels gnawing on electrical wires with gleeful abandon.

Peace, love and purple-collared kittens … XOXO

P.S.: Happy birthday, Dad! Please don’t worry about the squirrels. Or the fact I put my debit card online.