Squirrels in Canada Ontario Toronto are black. I realize this is not earth shattering news. But let me just tell you that when you are American and you are used to the garden variety gray ones (you know, the ones who are actually afraid of people), when you are fairly new to the great white north and you are casually taking a stroll down Bathurst street with your newborn and your giant stroller and one of those black suckers comes up and jumps right the heck into the basket of your Pliko, you can’t help but begin to wonder what on earth that Veruca Salt was thinking when she was all “Daddy, I want a squirrel,” because good god, gross. Also, you can’t help but scream like a little girl.
That Roald Dahl sure was a twisted fellow, wasn’t he?
So, yes, squirrels and I? We are like Conan and Jay Leno. Or, um, Rocky and Boris and Natasha. Irreconcilable differences.
But, well, there was an incident.
This morning I went to Kroger after carpool to stock up on exciting things like string cheese and key lime pie yogurt and hummus and diet coke. And, as a special treat to me and my stepmom, a grande nonfat latte with one shot of sugar-free vanilla syrup and a decaf grande nonfat one equal cappucino, respectively. Starbucks has become a bit of a treat for me because in an effort to bring our costs down this year, I agreed to make my own coffee every day. But thanks to some fancy donations gift cards, I am able to treat myself every now and then. (Read: when I am lazy)
So, while I was making sure that my precious cargo ($8 worth of coffee) didn’t end up all over the upholstery of my van, I didn’t see the squirrel.
The one that I hit.
Oh my god, you guys. I ran over a squirrel. And I kept driving. I didn’t know if there was some sort of rodent protocol, so I just went with my gut, and my gut said “hit and run” and now I kind of feel like crap and my latte isn’t even satisfying because I maybe, likely, probably killed a squirrel today.