Squirrel!

It all started with an innocent walk in the park. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and I was armed with a coffee in one hand and a half-eaten granola bar in the other. Life was good. That is, until I made eye contact with him.

Who?  Him?  Yes.  A squirrel.

Not just any squirrel—this was the squirrel. You know the type: twitchy tail, shifty eyes, and an unmistakable air of superiority. He stood on the path, staring me down like I’d wandered into his territory.

I took a step forward. He took a step closer.

“Cute little guy,” I muttered, breaking off a piece of my granola bar. I tossed it in his direction, expecting a polite “thank you” in the form of a scampering retreat. Instead, he darted forward, grabbed the piece, and bolted up a nearby tree.

“Alright, cool,” I thought. “Enjoy your snack, little buddy.”

But as I turned to leave, I heard it: the distinct sound of something dropping behind me.

I looked down. There, at my feet, was the exact piece of granola I’d just tossed to the varmint. 

I glanced back up at the squirrel. He was perched on a branch, staring at me with his little paws clasped together, like some kind of furry mob boss gangsta.  Then he chirped—a sound that could only mean one thing: “Do better!” in the PG-13 version of this story.

“Oh, it’s on now,” I said.  “On like Donkey Kong!”

I broke off another piece of granola and tossed it with more effort this time. It landed right at the base of the tree. The squirrel climbed down, sniffed it, then, to my absolute amazement, kicked it away with his tiny foot.

Now, I’m not proud of what happened next. Fueled by caffeine, competitive pride, and a misplaced need for validation from a small woodland creature, I decided to chase him.  And chase him I did, little granola-kicking piece of [censored]!

“You don’t like my granola? Fine! Find your own special food!” I shouted, sprinting toward the tree.

The squirrel bolted, zig-zagging across the grass like an NFL running back. I followed, spilling coffee as I flailed. He juked left, then right, and I swear I heard him laughing the whole way!

A group of joggers slowed down to watch. A kid on a bike yelled, “Get him, Missy!” and suddenly I felt like I was starring in some low-budget film meets PBS nature documentary.

After what felt like an eternity (but was probably 30 seconds, in fact), the squirrel darted up another tree. I stood there, panting, coffee-soaked, and completely defeated.  Utterly defeated.

And then, as if to cement his victory, the squirrel flicked his tail and chirped again. But this time, instead of scorn, it sounded… triumphant… and with glee.

I slumped onto a nearby bench, utterly beaten by the world… or at least this small creature. The kid on the bike gave me a thumbs-up as he rode past.

“Thanks, man,” I muttered, staring at the treetops where my arch-nemesis had disappeared.

The squirrel had won this round. But one day, I’ll be back—with better granola this time!