Author: Kara Mae Adamo.
I have a problem.
In a bizarre cluster of events that I can only attribute to my inevitable bad karma catching up with me, I have become the victim of a vicious furry-tailed attack.
In no more than a month and a half, I have been chased by three squirrels. Squirrels: as in the adorable glorified rats that steal bird seed out of your feeder; skittish little fluffy-tailed things that rarely come near us humanly folk. These furry jerks have it out for me.
Here is a detailed account of my first attack:
The Obese Squirrel at Lover’s Point
In August, I flew out to Monterey, California to see a close friend of mine named Adam. On one of my last mornings there, he took me to a delightful little place in Pacific Grove called The Lighthouse.
In Monterey, it is very common to walk everywhere you go.
So, after we finished with breakfast, Adam and I walked along the rocky coast that spans Pacific Grove and Monterey’s historic Cannery Row. It was on this walk that we stopped at a place called Lover’s Point.
Contrary to what the name would suggest, it is actually not a romantic hideaway. Gorgeous as it may be, the area harshly fringed with jagged rocks is actually set aside as a religious park. The name “Lover’s Point” refers to the love one has for the Lord.
Now, I am by no means religious. That being said, it was a spiffy place that I’d heard about earlier in the week, so I decided to climb around for a bit.
The entire place was peppered with squirrels. Tourists—in typical tourist fashion—were feeding these furry little things various bits of food. You could tell that these squirrels had grown used to the ritual. They didn’t dart around. They just sat their on their plump little squirrel legs and reached up for whatever random morsel was being presented to them.
These were spoiled squirrels.
Adam let out an audible sigh. “People, don’t feed them!”
I (blissfully naïve at the time) smacked at his arm. “No! Let them feed them—the poor squirrels are hungry!”
We bickered about this for a couple of minutes before I began climbing around on the rocks (my to-go omelet in my hands). So I’m snapping photos with my iPhone and soaking in the last lingering moments of refreshing Pacific Ocean breeze when I realize that a rather plump little furry friend has hopped on over towards me.
Fat and content with life, this squirrel lazily curled himself up on a rock about two feet away from me. Aww, I thought, so cute!! So I took said iPhone and began snapping photos of my new “friend.”
He turned his head and looked at me.
I took another picture.
His ears bent back.
I took another picture.
He bolted towards me, hopped onto my rock, and darted for my jeans.
I leap over the squirrel. Flailing my arms, I jump down the hill and run past Adam.
“We gotta go!”
Adam, confused: “What?”
“Squirrel…squirrel is chasing me!”
“Kara, it’s a squirrel. Kick it.”
“I’m not gonna kick it! He’s fat and he’s chasing me.” I say, marching the hell away from the Jesus-y area that the squirrel quite obviously knew I had no business in.
“See—this is what happens when people feed them, Kara” Adam replies.
“I didn’t feed him!!”
“He wanted your omelet.”
“He can have the freaking omelet!”
So I was chased by an obese and probably religious squirrel at Lover’s Point. Adam still laughs at me.