Finally, proof that there is more to me than just gay fretting

Over the last few weeks I’ve been forced to deal with a somewhat unusual houseguest. Many people get a kitten or a puppy for Christmas, but I got a squirrel. An inflatable squirrel. A psychedelic, psychopathic inflatable squirrel.

I call him Psycho Squirrel for short.

I loved Psycho Squirrel right from the start, what with those huge adorable anime eyes and that acid colour scheme. But it didn’t take long for me to realize that he had a few, well, antisocial tendencies.

First I caught him on the couch with one of the kitchen knives:

Then I found him outside with a packet of matches, on the bale of hay I was planning to use for garden mulch. He claimed he was “just playing”:

But my patience was really stretched when I found him trying to garrote my stuffed walrus with my iPod headphones. His explanation was that he was “just taking out the competition”:

So as you can see he’s a bit of a handful. Fortunately, I have a pack of specially trained wild monkeys to take him down as needed:

We’ll eventually learn to sort out our differences in a civilized and enlightened manner. Until then, I’ll just make sure I keep the hedge trimmer locked up.