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.