I’m not normally one for procrastination. I’d rather do today what could wait until tomorrow, so that it’s not hanging over my head while I sleep like a Damoclesian to-do list. This has become especially true since I had kids. The time I have to work is extremely limited and passing up an opportunity to write is just plain stupid. So I shun distractions. I ignore the things that suck up my precious time.
But there is one thing that’s been taking up an unfair amount of my attention lately.
Trash Eater.
This is Trash Eater.
Last month, Trash Eater was the fattest squirrel known to man, but he’s thinned out as the weather’s gotten worse. He’s still plenty plump though, thanks in large part to my trash.
As his name might indicate, he eats it. First, I should confess that our trash cans are out by our detached garage. On account of the small children, I often toss a full trash bag onto the back porch and wait until the next time someone’s going out to the garage to take it to the bins. Apparently, the temptation of the un-attended, un-canned bag was too much for Trash Eater.
The first time I found a garbage bag ripped open, with coffee grounds and leftover mac-and-cheese strewn across the ground, I assumed it was a raccoon. We live near a large park, and they wander through occasionally. Grumblingly, I cleaned up the mess, assuming it was a one-time annoyance. My ire grew as the ransacking of our family’s refuse happened several more times – and each time there was increasingly grumble-y cleaning up.
Then I caught him. I was making the toddler his lunch one day when I looked out the sliding glass doors onto the back porch and saw this enormous squirrel digging a heel of bread out of my trash. Massively irritated, I stormed across the kitchen, sure that my approach would scare him off.
No so. Trash Eater is a very intrepid squirrel. He turned one beady eye toward me and went back to nibbling on his (my) bread. So, I took the absolutely rational and sane step of whipping open the glass door and yelling at him. “Trash eater! Get out of my trash!” I may have shaken my fist. I’m not sure. I was pretty angry.
My toddler found this absolutely hysterical.
The squirrel finally took off at that point, ducking under the gate and disappearing down the driveway. Feeling pretty pleased with myself, I went back to making lunch. A few minutes later, a tiny voice called from the direction of the back door: “Mommy! TRASH EATER!!”
I looked out, and sure enough, the same squirrel was back, digging through the garbage while giving me a what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it-lady look. Thus, Trash Eater was named, and a feud was born. I upped the stakes by keeping a steady vigil for Trash Eater, assisted by my highly enthusiastic toddler. I made a better effort to get the trash bags into the cans, pronto. Trash Eater responded by learning how to tip over the trash cans and ripping into the newly-freed bags.
I began brandishing a broom.
Trash Eater started checking through a window on the side of our house to see if I was near the back door before attacking (not kidding.)
I know, I know. There are ways I could do away with Trash Eater. A little arsenic in the remnants of the apple pie comes to mind. But I don’t have the heart. Two things stop me from going there, no matter how irritated I get. The first one is my toddler. He takes great joy in spotting Trash Eater and sending up the two-year-old alarm signal (which consists of yelling MAMA! MAMA! TRASH EATER TRASHEATERTRASHEATERTRASHEATER until I come running to chase him off. If I am too slow, the toddler will open the back door, stick his head out, and yell at the squirrel himself.) This is extremely adorable, and is also an easy way to entertain him when I need to – say – grab a load of laundry or answer an email. I just tell him to go check for Trash Eater. Yes, it’s sort of horrible. But he likes it. Really!
Anyway, the second thing that stops me is Trash Eater himself. There are a lot of really scrawny, pathetic squirrels out there this time of year, scraping at the cold, hard dirt, looking for some acorn they buried in September. Trash Eater isn’t one of them. He’s figured out a pretty sweet deal. There’s *always* trash. He didn’t have to run around like a ninny shoving nuts into a dying day-lily plant. He’s smart, for a squirrel. I mean, seriously. He does *reconnaissance*. Over the course of our feud, I’ve developed a grudging respect for him. He irritates the crap out of me, but God help me . . . I respect him too much to off him.
I still wish he’d stay the heck out of my trash, though.
And if you’ll excuse me, I need to stop writing and go check on my garbage cans.
So cute. Trash Eater just had to say it myself