You're a crafty bunch, so I have no doubt that you'll not only read this missive, but you'll find a way to mock me for it later. Here's the deal: truce, goddamnit. I don't know what I did to earn your scorn (move in? is that what set you off?), but I can't take it any longer. I need my sleep! No normal person wakes up at 5:30 in the morning, which, as you know, is precisely the time you like to start your day. I'm not sure *what* you're doing on my roof, but I do concede awe at your deftness, having hoisted a tractor up two flights and then driving the damn thing directly over my bedroom backwards and forwards ad infinitum -- all before the sun has barely finished rising.
Yeah so you're industrious w/ your little rodent limbs, and -- dare I say -- squirrelly too, but this is not a war you want to wage. I have great bonds with the Universal Federation of Hawks and I'm not afraid to call in a few favors. I know you think I'm bluffing. Admittedly, the broomhandle I've banged against my ceiling during your noisier excursions has done nothing to deter you. You can laugh inside or even in my face. And in fact, you do. But I'm watching you, Winslow Squirrels. I'm going to give you a grace period of like two more mornings. Use this time to move your morning scrimmages, whatever, to some other chump's roof. If by Friday I do not get to sleep in until AT LEAST 8, it's feedin' time for some hawks. You hear that?
P.S. I'd appreciate if you not share that last part with my work. They like to believe that by 8 I'm two hours deep into conference calls and writing project plans. Thanks.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006