Washington, DC has the highest concentration of squirrels in the United States. Folks even call it the “Squirrel Capital” of the world. Averaging three pounds, these furry rats are to DC what the killer rabbit was to the Knights of the Holy Grail.
I spent a summer there when I was 15 and was used to Canadian squirrels, the sort that said “please” and “thank you” when collecting their nuts. So I thought nothing of it when, one day, while enjoying a scrumptious bacon and avocado sandwich on a park bench, an American squirrel joined me.
As I ate, I became more and more aware of this squirrel’s presence. His glowing, red gaze was unnerving. From the corner of my eye, I could see him rubbing his paws and scratching his hind legs against the surface of the bench. Nervously, I moved to another spot, where I hoped to finish the rest of my sandwich in peace.
I hadn’t been sitting for two minutes when a shrill chirp pierced the air. Before I knew it, a flurry of fur flashed across my face, snatching my sandwich from my hands.
All I remember are his cold, cruel eyes, and that feeling of despair as I realized that my bacon and avocado sandwich was gone for good. The killer squirrels of DC had gotten to me; there was no going back.