Nature is coming to kill you.

That's right. Nature is coming to kill you. In the past two days, we have twice been assaulted by the so-called "Forces of Nature." Up until now, I always thought that expression referred to tornadoes and earthquakes. Now I know better. It means, Nature's Army. If you live in an exotic land, Nature might send a jackal or an asp to do its dirty work (or a giraffe, or, if Nature is feeling really silly, maybe a vampire butterfly). If you live in Portland, Oregon, the soldiers of Nature look something like this:
And look, there is even a Ninja division:

So, here's what happened. First, Thursday night, raccoons tried to infiltrate the house to kill us. That is the only reason I can think of. Or, they were just tap-dancing on the roof. Maybe they parachuted from helicopters and landed on the roof and then started tap-dancing. I don't know. All I know is they were really, really loud and, ultimately unsuccessful in their murderous mission. Ha ha!

And then this morning, while I was home alone, (queue Twilight Zone music) I heard something. . . in the ceiling. A LOUD something. In the ceiling between the first and second stories. Or, in the heating ducts. I guess it had to be in the heating ducts because. . . it came OUT one of the vents, into the living room. A Ninja squirrel. It climbed the drapes, it climbed a tall potted plant. It was looking for where we stash our jewels, I think, or our microchips of government secrets, all of which I courageously kept safe by swallowing them. The Ninja eventually ran out the front door. Sayonara, killer.

We beat Nature's Army. For now. I'm afraid that this was only an advance force. What's next? Wouldn't it be cool if coyotes came all the way from the hills? Or foxes? How creepy would it be if we looked out the windows at night and the house was completely surrounded by like six hundred foxes? I wish that would happen. I really do.

Oh, there was one other incident that happened that Jim wants me to tell you about. Another Nature sneak attack. Yesterday, when he was coming inside, a droplet of water dripped off the edge of the patio and flung itself right down the back of Jim's collar. Like a little kamikaze! Right down his neck. The aim that was involved. The rigorous training these troops go through! It leaves me in awe.

So, about squirrels. Some are cute:
Others are. . . less so.

And what's cuter than this?
How about when it's dead and wrapped around a kid's head, like so:
I just adore a child in fur, don't you?
Actually, I think anyone who wants to wear fur should have to capture, kill, dress, and sew it themselves. Yes? And, if you wear fur, no complaining if a tiger or six hundred foxes come for you.

Lock your doors. Seal your ductwork. They're here. And they're crafty.