I like birds. Not so fond of squirrels.

Let’s talk about the squirrels first. They’re essentially rats in trees that are “cute” enough that most people, at least those that don’t have close dealings with them, think they’re precious little woodland creatures.

But they are not.

They are rats.

In trees.

Years ago, I made my home in the Evil Empire (Massachusetts). This home was a big old place. It stood three stories tall and even then, was dwarfed by massive, ancient maple trees. Those latter are also known as squirrel highways. Due to an unfortunately placed hole in the roof rake, this combination led to squirrels deciding to hang out in the attic. And the ceilings. It was a balloon framed house, so they just went any damned place they wanted to.

Occasionally, one would find its way into the living space of the house. One afternoon, I arrived home to find My Lady (she is a landed lady of Scotland) running in circles in the living room, chasing a squirrel, trying to scare it out through a window she’d opened for the purpose.

Thinking swiftly, I drew my sword. We don’t need to discuss why I had a sword handy. It was a rough neighborhood. Massachusetts frowns on guns. Leave it at that.

It turns out that while swords are nifty for shortening squirrel tails, they aren’t so great at actually catching said squirrel. An hour later the squirrel was finally captured in a thrown blanket and carried outside, to be unceremoniously dumped on the lawn.

His tail was hung by a hook in the window, and oddly, we never had much of a squirrel problem after that. I learned that little trick from an E.R. doctor as he was sewing my thumbnail back on after an unfortunate elevator accident long before this. He (while literally drilling holes in my thumbnail and finger) told me about how the real Count Vladimir Dracul (Vlad the Impaler of Romania) lined the road near Târgoviște with almost 24,000 impaled Turks, to horrify the advancing Ottoman army. Apparently, it worked. Then and now.