The Night the Squirrel Attacked

It’s kind of like when the “Nights Went Out in Georgia” but a lot worse.  After reading my blog buddy, Anne Riley’s blog, another commenter said something that brought back a very traumatizing event.  (Read that blog here.)  For those of you who might laugh or poke fun or joke at my expense…this is a serious public service announcement.


I know what you are thinking, “Dana, how can you make those sweet innocent souls homeless when your blog is titled as such?”  Well I can say, “You’ve never walked a mile in my squirrel attacked shoes or you’d evict those beasts too.” (Evict read “poison and kill.”  Again, mile in my shoes, mile in my shoes.)

Look at the beast:

Its malice claws, like deadly eagle talons.   That hideous tail, like an Amazon python, ready to choke its prey.  Or how about those beady eyes, ready to suck the living soul right out of you!

Evil I say.  Evil. Hear my story and you will agree. 

When I was in high school, Dec. 3, 1989, my senior year (note that I have the date BURNED in my skull…FOREVER) I was attacked by a squirrel one night.   Twice.  Those cute little baby squirrels in the attic ATTACKED ME! The little critter chewed a hole in my closet sheetrock and attacked me in my very bedroom. 

I was sleeping and heard their ratty claws scraping at the walls.  Rats with tails.  I thought they were scraping from the inside, but when I called out to fear them into scattering, the beast was laying  on my arm tucked behind my head.  I threw the foul creature with my elbow across the room.  It thudded against the wall and scampered into my closet.  I shrieked a cry so loud, my parents came downstairs to aide me.  I exclaimed the murderous attempt and begged for safekeeping in their bed.  My parents refused to let their 16yo daughter sleep in the bed with them because of “bad dreams,” so I slept in the guest room just outside their room upstairs.

It took an hour maybe two before my tense body could succumb to sleep again.  That’s when I heard the faint skittering of feet in the closet behind me.  I writ it off to my vivid imagination.  Then a distinct depression sunk the covering on my bed.  The quick scampering of tiny feet across the covers and SCREACH!  the beast landed on my legs.  My bloody murder screaming (which my mother swore to this day she actually thought someone was killing me) called my parents to me.  They saw the incubus SCAMPERING ACROSS THE GRASSCLOTH WALLS! Mother screamed and slammed the bedroom door, isolating me, and my gallant step father, in the room with the creature.  One broomstick later, the tiny invader had met its end and we were free from the Squirrel Queen’s Tyranny.  (And a crapload of rat poison in the attic.)  

Thus I must add, that was the one and only night I ever slept with my parents.

From that night, until the 20th of April, Nineteen Hundred and Ninety, I slept with ALL my lights on, the TV on and one towel stuffed under my bedroom door, another towel under my closet door.  I kid you not.  So when you read my blogs and you think, “That girl ain’t right.”  Now you will know why I'm a little "squirrelly."