Once upon a time, I was trying to start my car this morning at about 6:15 so it could be warmed up and ready to go by 6:30, when I needed to leave for Seminary. Unfortunately, the engine wouldn't turn over. This was not particularly surprising, as the car is older than me, and held together with spit and prayers. So I popped the hood to take a look. Lo and behold, a LIVE TREE SQUIRREL was sitting on my engine block, staring me down.
"I dare you to do something about this," it said sassily. Except it couldn't really talk, except just pretend, okay?
"This is MY house."
I responded with a swift Z-Snap, and a resounding, "oh no you DITN'T!" I moon-walked to my garage to get on a pair of work gloves with which to remove the squirrel from my car with minimal risk of rabies and/or squirrel flu. When I came back, the squirrel scampered down into the undercarriage. It was out of reach, but I could still see its beady little eye. Staring at me. Mocking me. Right then, I almost got back in the car to make squirrel pâté. But my inner hippie vetoed this motion and I conceded defeat... for now. I took the Suburban to school.
When I got home, I checked out my engine block and my undercarriage carefully. It seemed squirrel-free, so I tried starting the car again. Nothing. The engine still wouldn't turn over. So. If the squirrel chewed through some wire or something else that would destroy my car... I'll just say I hope it was insta-fried down to a few moles of carbon, and blown by the wind right into Utah Lake.
The score stands at Squirrel: 2, Andrew: 0 right now. But I will have my revenge. And, heaven willing, get my car running again.