This Means War…

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…

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I could barely grasp what I was seeing, because — you know — caught up in that whole early morning stink eye moment.

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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.

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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…

  1. 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.


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