Squeaking Ninja Squirrels

So, I'm pretty sure a gang of squirrels just rumbled outside my bathroom window this morning.  I was at the sink, trying to rectify the Great Bleach Spill of 2011 and kind of wishing I knew how to swear properly, because if ever an occasion called for vigorous and proper swearing, it was indeed the Great Bleach Spill of 2011.  This event is not to be confused with the Lost Phone Charger Emergency of 2010, nor the #10 Can of Cut Oats All Over the Kitchen Floor Fiasco of 2009.  It was a totally separate disaster and one worth swearing over (properly), if I were that kind of girl.

But these squirrels were something else.  I'm tempted to call them Ninja Squirrels because I definitely saw one of them do a three-foot vertical backflip leap onto the branch above him.  It was a him, I can assure you, because shortly thereafter, he completely flashed me.  They weren't Ninja Squirrels, however, because Ninjas are silent, and these hooligans were not.

I can't tell you just how it started -- I missed the insult that initiated the whole event.  Two of the squirrels -- I like to call them Barry and Leonard -- were tossing insults back and forth when I noticed them through the open window.  I'm used to the chattering of squirrels.  I like it.  They sound so chatty and busy, squeaking and chirruping.  It's usually pleasant background noise, but not today.  Barry was growling at Leonard, who was huffing and puffing back.  Apparently these two know how to swear properly, and were going at it with vigor until Barry jumped at Leonard, sending Leonard scampering up the tree and out onto the end of a long branch.  Barry followed rapidly, stopping just long enough to bark a threat.  Did you know that squirrels bark?  I had no idea.  I think he said, "So's your mom!" but I may have misinterpreted that.  Leonard disappeared from my view in the thick leaves, but he continued his low-pitched rumblings and an eerie kind of hissing. As he did, I noticed the gang members gathering. 

They came in kind of slow and nonchalant.  You know, hopping a little in the grass, scampering along the sidewalk, easing their way closer so naturally that I'm sure no one else even noticed.  Two, three, four, five of these guys, making their way towards the tree where Barry held Leonard under siege at the end of the branch.  These might have actually been Ninja backups, because they made no sound.  As they circled the tree warily it was hard to tell the two gangs apart.  I think Barry's buddies had the browner tails, but the way they were twitching them back and forth, it was difficult to be sure.  Suddenly, all tarnation broke loose!  (Told you, I can't swear.)

Up the tree, down the tree, around, around, around, around, around (whoa, a little dizzy here!), and back up the tree again.  There were squirrels flipping and jumping and leaping from branch to branch - seven bushy tails in a blur of gray and tan.  The squeaks and hissing accelerated until with a heroic leap, Leonard flung himself from the branch and chased a breathless Barry out of the yard.  The gangs dissolved into the surrounding trees and bushes as silently as they came.  All we needed was a corn field . . .

The yard is quiet now.  The only sound is the call of the bluejays in the neighbor's junipers.   As I dry my hands and survey the damage of the Bleach Spill, I can't be sure if I saw what I saw and heard what I thought I heard after all.  Maybe they really were Ninja Squirrels.