I’m sitting here working on the second draft of the screenplay, when I hear someone walk on the roof. Steps. Thumpch, thumpch, thumpch. Strange ones, like the ones you make walking on snow. Who the hell is on the roof? The roofing guy said he would call before he shows up.
I get up, look out the window over my little balcony, and catch a fat squirrel who just landed there, coming from the roof. He stares at me with spite, grabs a cedar shingle with his paws and takes a chunk off of it, then starts chewing.
I knock on the window. I make myself big and scary (yeah, that’s easy). I stamp my feet. He just stares at me.
It’s only when I threaten to open the patio door that he climbs back on the wall, up to the roof. Thumpch, thumpch, thumpch.
Squirrels eat cedar ? ! ?
And I thought all I had to worry about in the suburbs were mullets!
If someone had told me I would ever have to join a mailing like this one, I would have laughed at them.
