There is one squirrel in my neighborhood, and it wants to break into my house.
A note of warning: I have a bad history with squirrels.
I don’t know how that one time the squirrel got into my apartment. Maybe there was a hole in the wall I couldn’t see. Maybe he picked the lock. Maybe it teleported from an alternate universe where squirrels have mastered interdimensional travel and teleportation and we humans are climbing trees naked looking for nature nuts.
Whatever happened, he got in. It rocked me so much that not only did I write a blog about it (linked above), I based an episode of my web series on the experience.
So believe me when I say that this new threat? This squirrel in my neighborhood, outside my front door?
Yeah…it’s not getting in this time.
Before we move on, here’s how I know it’s trying to get in: every morning when I get home from the gym around 7:30, it’s in the little garden area outside my front door. It looks at me and squeaks, in what I can only assume is an adversarial gesture meant to elicit food donations.
It’s not yelling at me for nothing. It’s not like it’s got some squirrel world conspiracy theories rattling around it’s pea-size brain it needs to get out.
“What’s that you say? Those two trees in the park coming down was an inside job? Yeah, we know, Squirrel. The park is taking those down to build a jungle gym. No need to create an intricate, hour-long YouTube video over this.”
I’ve only noticed the thing recently, and I’m pretty sure it thinks it can get inside for food. I mean I don’t know what kind of logic a squirrel would use, or if they use it, but I feel like, “These people may have one kind of nut in their living quarters” is a solid bet for this thing. He’s wrong on our count, but I’m sure the upstair neighbors have almonds or cashews or something like that.
Last time this happened to me, I wasn’t prepared. I am this time. Here’s my strategy to keeping this beast out of my apartment:
Direct, Unblinking Eye Contact: I’ll alpha the shit out of this little bastard. Every day when I get home and it’s hopping around looking for an in, I’ll just stare right at it. This is straight out of prison rules. I won’t avert my gaze and prove it’s the dominant animal here. I’m the king. And if you come for the king’s Ritz Crackers, you best not miss.
Running Into My House Like, Really Fast: Not the most alpha maneuver, but this one uses common sense.
Enlist the Neighborhood Cats to Eat It: The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I may not like the feral cats stalking my neighborhood, but they don’t try to invite themselves over. If I can break them off with an extra meal and take care of one of my problems, that’s a win-win. Plus I feel like that may buy some goodwill with them in the future. Why I would need a stray cat’s goodwill, I have no idea. But I’m sure I can think up something.
Set a Home Alone Like Trap Using a Bunch of Acorns and a Blow Torch: I’m not a “cruelty to animals” guy. I wouldn’t want to burn the critter. However, comically torching its head ot make it bald ala Joe Pesci in Home Alone while teaching it to never come back again? THAT I can do.
That’s the extent of my strategy. I’m not sure if I’m planning to use one, or a combination of all four in concert with each other, but what I am sure of is that no squirrel will ever get inside my apartment. Unless it teleports from another squirrel-superior dimension, in which case, maybe it could tell me when I die or something cool like that.