..and it wasn't mine, surprisingly. But, to be honest, ever since the rabid squirrel attacked in my Manhattan apartment, I've always been afraid he might follow me to Brooklyn to wreak more havoc.
For the record, if a squirrel does invade your home and terrorize your children, call 911. When I faced the Grey Menace that night back in Manhattan, first I called the precinct house directly, who said to call animal control or something. Then I called the SPCA (the only animal-control-type number I could find), but they were closed for the weekend. Then my neighbor, who told me to ignore it and went to bed. Then my super, who told me to call 911, but I wouldn't, because it wasn't life or death -- yet. So he came over. In the meantime, I called my ex-boyfriend, who stayed on the phone and tried to keep me calm. The squirrel attacked the super, we called 911, I remained hysterical, and the cops had a nice laugh at the crazy lady who was afraid of little furry animals. That hiss and attack. But the nice cops subdued the rabid beast and prodded it out the window with a billy club.
At least I think they did. I was busy hiding in my bedroom closet, per their request, because every time the damn thing moved I would scream bloody murder, and it was irritating the cops. They did lock the window for me before they left; I wasn't taking any chances.
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That happened to me when I was 10. what you need to do is call an exterminator. they set a trap bated with peanut butter (mmm, peanut butter) catch the sucker and release them into the wilds of whatever NYC park is closest. (For us, it's Flushing Meadow. For you, well, duh.)
Yeah, they're annoying little critters. in the immortal words of Carrie Bradshaw "They're rats, only with cuter outfits."
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