A Muggy Afternoon

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To the nitpickers among you—you know who you are—I am aware the mesh on the bird feeder in panel one is much too large to make it squirrel proof, which would be essential to the gag in a literal world. Believe me, I know. I had a “squirrel-proof” feeder in my backyard one time, indeed with much smaller mesh. However, it wasn’t so small as to exclude a young squirrel, who wiggled inside. He thought he had it made, sitting there in the safety and comfort of his own dining space, scarfing down my expensive sunflower seeds at his leisure. Thinking I’d at least scare the bejeebers out of him, I stormed out of the house waving my arms and jabbering rodent profanity. Alas, in his panic he couldn’t remember exactly how he’d gotten in. There we were, at an impasse. Me on the outside of the feeder about to bust a gut laughing and him about to have a heart attack on the inside. Time passed with no resolution, so I finally took feeder and squirrel to the garage, where I tried to release him by prying through the wires with a broom handle—which really sent the poor squirrel into a paroxysm of terror. At one point, with my considerable aid, he managed to work halfway out, where he got stuck again, which is when he reached around and bit me. (I survived.) Finally, working uneasily together, we attained his release, and he fled at Mach 2. If there’d been a video camera, they’d still be viewing that one on YouTube.

I don’t know what to say about Boston better than to paraphrase the 2001 headline from Le Monde, “We Are All Bostonians.”