We were expecting
a hellacious storm rain last night, so I pushed/grunted, pulled/grunted, and wrangled the red barrel out of its protected corner underneath the overhang to give it a drink from the heavens.
I got up this morning, flew down the stairs in my non-designer jammies, flung open the front door, and gave the world my early morning stink eye, and behold…
I could barely grasp what I was seeing, because — you know — caught up in that whole early morning stink eye moment.
Attack of the zombie squirrel. I’d plural that, but I’m sure there is only one. One mean zombie squirrel, whose badassery knows no bounds.
This means war!
Or at least red pepper flakes.
Elen exits left for decaffeine.
And Tuesday shuffles in like a zombie.
5 thoughts on “This Means War…”
I’ve got a zombie squirrel, too! Dang thing keeps digging in the flower pot on the front porch. So rude!
I hope it didn’t do too much damage to that pretty pot of yours.
LOL. Every garden must have one. ZS did a good job. One plant was hanging by a root. I’ll have to underplant with some trailing something or other, so it doesn’t look like an open field of opportunity. Cheers!
Let me know if you need reinforcements!
(and maybe a new nightie?)
LOL Well, I do tend to wear trash jammies in the line of tees and boxer shorts. Probably not even glamping-worthy. 😉
I never even THOUGHT about the appropriate wardrobe for glamping!! I bet there’s a whole line of clothing for that!
Ah well. Won’t see me glamping. I’m too cheap for that. (In other words, read decades old flannel and cotton nightshirts)
Comments are closed.