Evil Squirrel’s Nest Comic #212 — 5/19/16

Profiling is alive and well at the malls of America. I haven’t seen many possums in our local stores — few that they are — but we are building a wall to prevent them from coming into Our Town. A big wall. The possums will pay for it. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

Evil Squirrel's Nest


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When we bought this house 16 years ago, there were a few hosta growing near the house. Over the years, I have separated and divided them and we have four or five kinds of hosta in the woods, in the garden, and it just keeps growing.


Sun, rain, drought. Through snow and ice, late and early spring. You can’t stop the hosta. It’s the stainless steel of the plant world.


Speaking of unstoppable — there’s also the holly. It was a little bush when we moved. Soon, very soon, it was big bush. Now, it’s a massive shrub with surprising sharp thorny leaves that wants to rule the world. It may succeed.


You can see the berries forming. In a couple of weeks, the bush will be covered with them, which will make the birds happy. It’s ironic that the berries are long gone by Christmas, when they are the symbol of the season.


Flower of the Day – Hosta and Holly


Back in the day (I hate that cliché), I used to do features like this for slow TV news days. It’s been a week of low family soap opera, spawned by disciples of “Ozzie and Harriet”, “Father Knows Best” and “Modern Family”. Oh, the angst!!

Today figured to be a reprieve. Lunch with an old pal from my working days. I looked forward to sharing stories about baseball, favorite TV shows, and guy gossip. Perfect weather. Tee shirt weather. My old, yellow, sports car with the sun roof would be my wheels. Girls call my car and me “cool and awesome”. Ready to roll.


But, as Columbo would say, “… just one more thing, Sir”. I couldn’t find my shoulder bag. My shoulder bag which contains my driver’s license, SS card, medical and credit cards.

Marilyn joined me in the household search, from casual to frantic. Car searches turned up nothing. I stared accusingly at the dogs. Visions of a conspiracy grew. Why me?

Marilyn tried to calm me down as my grumbling grew louder, laced with profanity and anger. Why me??

Marilyn then tried to call my friend to cancel lunch but his contact numbers were out-of-date. I had failed to update contact vitals. Why me?? I dashed off an email to my pal, explaining the situation and apologizing for the last minute lunch cancellation. My anger was growing. Except … I was the perp.


Finally, I decided to retrace my movements of the past 24 to 36 hours. Local deli to supermarket. I kept thinking of what potentially lay ahead if my ID and credit cards were really lost … or even worse, had been stolen. Dammit!!

The supermarket folks were kind. They knew me. One of the perks of living in a small town is that everyone knows your name. One of the managers smiled and indicated they had it — even before I could get the question out.


I gulped and stepped back, taking a deep breath. They searched high and low, assuring me my bag was safe, under lock and key.

The long wait.

Finally, with deep apologies, they said my bag was at the police station. Why were they apologizing?? I was the one who’d lost the bag. I gave myself a Gibbs’ head slap.

The police station is only a couple of minutes away, but season long road work has the middle of town in a virtual freeze frame. Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the police station parking lot. I counted to ten and got out of the car. I took a few steps, then got back into the car … to turn the engine off. Another one to ten count then advance into the police station.


They greeted me with smiles. Yes, they had my bag!! They recognized my police badge. Actually, it’s an auxiliary police badge given to me back in my working days. And, yes, I still like to flip the holder cover open, casually revealing the badge to some folks. I’m admittedly an aging ham.

My bag was returned to me. I signed a release form with a BIG “Thank You”. The station personnel kept smiling. I wanted to slowly back out, feeling very stupid. They wouldn’t let me leave. Why me??


It seems they wanted to take pictures with me. To show off to their family and friends. Who used to watch me on television. Very weird for me.

I kept thinking … they shoot horses, don’t they?