An arch-nemesis has returned. We knew he (or perhaps more probably she?) would, sooner or later ... and that day has come.
Yesterday, as I was dressing in my bedroom (isn't that how most scary stories start?), I heard a suspicious scratching sound coming from up yonder. I finished dressing, then rushed outside to find ... a squirrel furiously clawing away at the corner of our roof. He (she?) stopped and peered down at me. We had a little chat.
"Now, listen here, you," I started, after staring at him for 20 seconds or so. "We don't want you in our house again. You go find a tree, or something, to build your nest in." He seemed mesmerized. But no sign of intent to comply was given.
I went back out a minute later, to see if the would-be intruder still lurked nearby. The squirrel had made its way to the apex of the roof:
I really don't want to sleep with that thing right above my head for another couple of months. I hope Matt's partial anti-squirrel efforts in the attic (he said he ran out of screen halfway through) will be sufficient.