I needed a break from all the swastikas.

Oh, yeah. Here is a story to entertain you:

Rukis the Rotten Squirrel

1] Warning: Self-induced furry drama. Sensitive furries need not read further.

2] This story may or may not be true. It is offered up merely for your prurient entertainment. (Let the reader use discernment.)

3] The best way to approach this story is to liken it to one of Roo-kiss' mundane farm tales (in which we all pretended to show an interest- as long as she kept pumping out furry porn in between her self-absorbed episodes.) Think wilted ferns, wayward rabbits and drunken mice. Yawn.

4] So it begins:

I have an apple tree on my property. To my knowledge, it is the only one in my neighborhood. (If YOU are unfortunate enough to have an apple tree on your property, you might know what's coming. Therefore, I will accept your sympathies in advance.)

I planted that tree thirty years ago, thinking: "Gee, wouldn't it be great to pick my own apples!" Now, thirty years of apple-picking later, I can say with confidence: "No, it's not great to pick my own apples. Been there, done that. It sucks. I can go to the market and buy a bag of nicer ones for five dollars."

I have come to loathe that tree. There is an unending cycle of pruning each winter, fertilizing and liming in spring, spraying the tree, thinning out bad fruit in summer, picking in fall and finally waiting until late December for the leaves to drop so I can rake them.

Having a well-tended apple tree is not a joy forever. Sooner or later, every living thing in the neighborhood will fly, trot, crawl, hop, skip and hoochie-koo its way to those apples. The line forms in late May: Assorted insects, worms, parasites, bees, squirrels, birds, fungi, deer, people. You name the unwanted pest and you can find it in the boughs of my tree. They all take their turn.

Even the spiders. Yes, spiders: I watch them nibble holes in the apples and spend all day sucking the juice out of them. The bees are pests, too: Not the fat bumble bees that pollinate them in April, no. I refer to the nasty bees that nest underground and come out in the autumn by the thousands to form a living carpet on the apples, eating the ripe fruit from the inside out.

If it was up to me, that tree would be firewood. The only reason it's not is because after all these years it has become a spectacle for the neighbors, who line up in October to get their obligatory apples. Why people want them, I don't know. Personally, I blame God. The more you tell people that the fruit is forbidden, the more they want it. Consequently, every year the spoils are divided whether they be many or few.

I believe it was Erika Badu who chanted: "If you don't want to be down with me, then you don't want a piece of my apple tree." Such a truism. Yes, if you want a piece of my apple tree, then you had better be down with me. Enter the squirrels.

The squirrels start their activity in earnest around late June when the little green apples become visible on the tree. They announce their insidious presence with a distinct rustling noise as they scurry along the branches in search of treasure. Now I don't begrudge them their share, but squirrels are hopelessly greedy. As the season goes on, they become more organized and methodical in their approach.

I believe there is a "lead squirrel" that discovers the apples and alerts the others, who follow. I have literally chased the lead squirrel out of the tree only to discover a conga line of squirrels at the base of the trunk waiting to climb up. A literal line of them. Once in the tree, they will each take a branch for themselves and work their way out from the safety of the inside of the tree to the end of the branch, where they are more vulnerable. Other times one squirrel will sit in the tree lopping off branches with its teeth, letting the apple-laden branches fall to the ground where other squirrels will then quickly snatch the apples and take them to a safer location to nibble later.

Interestingly, they don't even like the apples. I suspect they mistake the little green apples for walnuts, which look very similar in color, shape and size. This might explain why they will never eat an entire apple. Instead, they will typically take an apple, nibble on it until they reach the core and realize it's not a walnut. Then they toss it to the ground and move on to the next apple and do the same. On average, they eat only about a third of each apple before tossing them, leaving the remains to be eaten by the chipmunks and rabbits. Left to their own devices, the squirrels will take every last apple.

Thus, every year I am forced to strategize how to slow them down. I'm never prepared for the onslaught. What happens is I watch them from my window as they ravage the tree, my irritation with them growing day by day until I finally act.

First I yell at them, which does nothing, then I run out of the house barefoot waving a broom at them, which works a few times until they stop taking me seriously and ignore me. Then I start shaking the branches with the broom, which flushes them out eventually. As they head down the trunk, I try to hit them, but I always miss. Mainly because they are too fast, but also because I don't really want to hurt them. I just want them... to go away. But they don't.

I have put baffles around the trunk, which helps until they figure out how to get around it. In order to avoid the booby-trapped trunk, the squirrels have learned to climb a tree on the other side of my house, jump on to my roof, scurry across and jump down to the top of the apple tree. I cringe every time I hear their claws clacking over the shingles and the inevitable swoop as they alight on the nearest apple bough. They do this every morning and evening, since the roof is too hot for them during mid-day. This allows a welcome respite for the tree. I have tried trimming the trees away from the house, but to no avail. (Once a squirrel learns it can do something, it will keep doing it even if it requires more effort.)

I have installed double-sided sticky tape on the trunk and branches, which they detest and avoid, until it rains and renders the tape useless. I have tacked bird netting on the tree, which is surprisingly effective, until I have to get on a ladder to detangle a bird while it tries to bite me. The squirrels get caught, too. But usually they escape the net if given enough time. This always seems to happen when I'm at work. I pull up to the house and the neighbors can't wait to regale me with stories of the squirrel that flung itself sacrificially into the bird netting and got hopelessly stuck for an hour but heroically refused to give up and finally fought its way out five minutes before I got home. I guess it never occurred to any of the neighbors to intervene and untangle the squirrel... or bash its little head in while it was caught. Either action would be acceptable. But the days of people getting involved died with Kitty Genovese. Oh, well. Moving on.

I hung Styrofoam apples as decoys on the tree to see if the squirrels would be dissuaded, but the squirrels didn't notice the difference. They would snatch the fake fruit and eat nearly half of it before tossing it. They were eating with their eyes, unable to move past their hard-wiring. I tried spraying them with a water hose, but they have learned to hide on the other side of the roof where I can't reach them.

Knowing they were out of my reach, they began sitting up on the peak for the express purpose of taunting me. Yes, they were taunting me. When I came out of the house waving my broom, they would take the apples they had in their mouths and jump back on to the roof, run up to the peak and sit and watch as I had a fit. Then they would play a little game. I call it squirrel bowling. They would take a cursory nibble on the apples, or worse yet, no nibble at all- and then throw the apples down the roof at me. The apples would roll down, making an unearthly sound, until hitting the gutter. They were doing this purposefully to show their displeasure at being interrupted, and to remind me that there was nothing I could do about it. They were right. Dejected, I would go back inside with nothing to show for my effort.

I finally got on a ladder and climbed to the roof where I sat motionless each morning waiting for them to jump from the tree and scurry unwittingly into my bosom so I could beat the living crap out of them. However, if I was too slow to catch them on the ground, I was even slower up on the roof. I couldn't catch a one, but at least they knew now that the roof was no longer a safe place and when I got up there, they were aware of it because I could hear them cackling at me, unseen from their perches in the trees.

One day, as I sat on the roof, I realized how much of my precious time was being wasted. Almost as much of a waste as logging into FurAffinity and thinking anyone was watching me. I had enough. Time to get out the trap! I didn't want to go there, but I was my last resort if I wanted to save any of these apples.

It was one of those Have-a-Heart type of traps, but it felt heartless just the same. As I baited it with a heaping tablespoon of Jiffy whipped peanut butter, I had visions of my grandfather sitting on his front porch with a rifle, shooting at anything that moved in the yard. He had real traps, the ones that snapped shut on the legs or necks of the hapless animals that dared invade his garden. He had no choice, just as I had no choice.

Trapping squirrels is easy. Their greed always gets the better of them. Hence, the first squirrel I trapped is named "Rukis". Draw your own conclusion. It is my assumption that the greediest squirrel is usually the first one trapped. And this Muthaf**ka looked greedy. I wasted no time bringing it into the house to show off as a trophy. Finally, my revenge was at hand. Rukis was pissed, and was out for my blood. But no such luck. Like those raptors in "Jurassic Park", Rukis tested out every section of wire in that trap, frantically trying to nibble its way out. The closer I got to the cage, the more frantic Rukis became. I put Rukis in a dark spot to cool off. I really didn't care if that squirrel rotted away in the cage, as long as I had my first victim to torment. What was my next move? Composing my speech, of course!

Yes, I was going to give a speech to this squirrel. Something along the lines of: "Sooo... Rukis... Did you enjoy my sweet juicy apples? I sincerely hope you did, because you won't be getting another one... ever. Muaahhaha!" Then it would go on with: "You wicked, evil greedy thing! We fed you birdseed all winter, popcorn all spring, and bread all summer but it wasn't enough for you was it? Because you are so greedy. Look what happens when you show no respect for those who feed you, Rukis. You have no one to blame but yourself. And now it has come to this." Much to the squirrel's relief, I didn't give it.

Instead, I waited until dark and brought Rukis to my bedroom where I proceeded to pray over the squirrel and performed a mock exorcism in order to rid Rukis of those evil, greedy ways. Just guessing, but I doubt it worked. Then I propped Rukis' cage/trap on my nightstand, as close to my bed as I could get it, and we proceeded to spend the night together. Apparently, putting squirrels in a dark place calms them down, and Rukis was no exception. Rukis sat motionless for two hours watching me as I lay in bed watching back. It's little forepaws were clenches tightly on the bars at the bottom of the cage as if it was waiting to spring into action at any second. But it didn't move. I couldn't see it breathing. It had one eye trained on me and that eye never blinked. It creeped me out. I had flashbacks of my little brother. He slept in a crib next to my bed. Whenever I looked over at him, sure enough, he had one eye open, watching me as he lay on his stomach.

Now I was going through the same thing with Rukis: The only give away that Rukis was still alive is that its eye would widen ever so slightly if I moved my head close to the cage. This fascinated me because I had no idea that a squirrel could remain as motionless as a statue for any length of time. Eventually I fell asleep, and, when Rukis was sure I was asleep, it went to sleep as well. I awoke around 4:00am to find Rukis curled into a tight ball, as far away from me as it could get, with it's haunches facing outward.

My rustling did not wake it. I got out of bed, got down on my knees, and tentatively inserted a finger through the wire bars of the cage. Then I began to stroke the squirrel. Rukis did not wake up or even flinch in response. I took this opportunity to really feel Rukis' fur and haunches. The fur was so soft and silky and thin. I dug in, pressing deeper into Rukis' backside. It's little body was so hard, composed of solid muscle, no fat at all. It was like leaving a lump of clay out to harden in the sun. I could barely press into its flesh. I don't know why, but I suddenly had this strange desire to bite down on Rukis and feel the texture of its muscular flesh between my teeth. But opening the cage and attempting to do so would be suicidal. So I just fantasized about it. I began to sniff Rukis, and I became aware of an odor in the room. Rukis had been inside for eight hours and this little bugger was slowly but surely stinking up the room. Rukis had to go.

As I prepared to leave, I waited for Rukis to wake up, but it was out like a light. After tapping on the cage a few times, there was movement. The squirrel finally roused its head, likely in disbelief that its bad dream had not ended. I knew how Rukis felt. It's the way I feel every time I wake up. Rukis became more active as the light increased and once I opened the door to the outside, Rukis turned into a full-fledged maniac, ramming the cage from end to end in a desperate bid to escape. As we got to the car, I could barely hold onto the cage because Rukis was making such a fuss. So I put the cage down. I looked on in dismay as Rukis screamed and cackled and hissed and banged against the bars of the enclosure. All the intimate time we had spent together during the night meant nothing to that animal. It was as if it never happened. Peacefully sleeping together. To Rukis, I was just as much the enemy today as I was yesterday. Perhaps Rukis knew what was coming next.

We were going on a trip. I lined the trunk of my car with a plastic liner, then unceremoniously placed the trap on top. An enraged Rukis paced back and forth, pissing and pooping, pooping and pissing. Rukis had held it in all night, and now it was all spilling forth. I needed to close the trunk, but I couldn't help watching in bemusement at the change in this creature who had been so calm all night, only to turn from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde during the morning hours. As it turns out, the squirrel wouldn't be the only one to do so.

Slam! I closed the trunk and we were off. We drove for about twenty minutes, just long enough to ensure that Rukis would not find its way home. I'm sure there's no shortage of laws about trapping and releasing wildlife. I don't care. My problem would be dumped on someone else. We pulled into an empty parking lot surrounded by towering oaks. You never know, but I was reasonably sure no one could see what I was up to. I opened the trunk. After being jostled around on those bumpy roads, that squirrel was ready to explode. I put my leather gloves on. I was there to set Rukis free, but... I looked around... there was no hurry. So I started massaging the bars of the cage with my gloved hands. Rukis screamed and hissed, trying to hide from my gloves and then trying to attack me when I lifted my hands up from the cage. Rukis became more enraged with each pass of my hands. I began rattling the cage, just a little. Rukis kept on running back and forth, alternately attacking and retreating, making noise the whole while. Rukis didn't know what I wanted and I'm not sure I did either.

Finally, out of exhaustion, I suppose, Rukis sat on its tail in the middle of the cage with it's little stubby arms and legs splayed out in a pose that was reminiscent of one of those Calvin Klein heroin chic ads from the 90s. The squirrel had stared at me for two hours straight last night, as prey keeps a wary eye on a predator, but now... now was the first time the squirrel actually acknowledged me, acknowledged that I was a being with needs that were not met. Rukis looked right at me as if to ask: "What the hell do you want from me?" That lasted for two, maybe three seconds, then the squirrel went back to mindlessly trying to bite its way out of the cage. So... what did I want? Yes, as stupid as it sounds, I wanted this squirrel to acknowledge me- and the suffering that it and it's little friends put me through.

But that's not what I wanted at that very moment. No. What did I really want? When Rukis splayed out its arms and legs in exasperation and faced me, for the first time it displayed its creamy white underbelly to me, so perhaps it was actually saying: "You see that I am vulnerable, so what do you want from me?" Yes maybe Rukis was sending me a two-fold message. (Yes, I'm nuttier than that squirrel.) So I decided to respond with a two-fold message: "Yes, I want acknowledgement, and I also want a piece of that soft furry underbelly."

I looked around. There was a small stick on the ground. I knew I should not have done it. My conscience told me it was wrong. But my desire to inflict torture on Rukis was greater than my desire to be a decent human being. I slowly inserted the stick between the bars of the cage. Rukis freaked, once again alternating between attacking and retreating. I wasn't even trying to touch Rukis. The fact that I was invading the cage was enough to set it off. Rukis would thrust one arm outside the bars, trying to pull the stick inside the cage to bite at the end. Alternately, I would rub the stick against its buck teeth as it chomped at the bars. It would start pulling and nibbling the stick thinking that it was making progress in eating though the wire, only to be disappointed by my prank. Little by little, I was able to touch Rukis with the stick. Sometimes Rukis would grab at the stick and brush it away. Other times it seemed that Rukis did not notice as the stick stroked its fur. My goal was to tire out the squirrel a little more until...

Rukis stopped in the middle of the cage again, exposing just enough of its underbelly so that I could gently press the stick against its chest and attempt to stroke it. No sooner had I done it, than Rukis grabbed at the stick with both paws and held on to it. You know, like if your father whipped you with a belt and, out of desperation, you grabbed on to the belt and wouldn't let go. Then you knew you were in even bigger trouble. Rukis was saying: "Enough." And it was enough... for Rukis. But not for me. Rukis would not get to decide when it was enough. I would decide.

I half-heartedly tried to stroke Rukis a few more times, looking around to see if anyone was watching. I really wasn't ready to set Rukis free because I wanted Rukis to suffer some more, but I told myself I have to stop before someone notices. I felt numb inside at the thought of letting Rukis out of the cage, but I put down the stick and lifted the cage out of the trunk. It took me a moment to pry the door open, but as soon as I got it part of the way up, the squirrel was already gone, faster than I could see. I turned to see it climb up an oak tree. It looked back at me for a second just to make sure I wasn't following, then disappeared into the forest. I stood there vacillating between the wish that it will prosper in its new environment, and the desire that it suffers to its last dying breath. As I turned away, I attempted to comfort myself: "There are more squirrels to catch." But none would be as greedy and rotten as Rukis.

Love, -D.