It isn't natural to hate squirrels. Some might even call it unfair. I hope, by the end of this narrative, to change that perception, to redefine unfair. Why would I want to tarnish these sweet little creatures' reputation? They're cute, they're small, they're furry... Squirrels are practically happiness incarnate, my Sunday school teacher used to say. She'd leave slices of orange on the windowsill of our classroom for the squirrels. "Keeps their coats shiny!" She'd also leave unopened walnuts, sometimes under coffee cans with rocks on top. "Squirrels are happier with a few challenges to meet..." How she knew so intricately the psychology of the things is beyond me. This universe presented her with a sheltered view of squirrels, one that warped her image of them. Even at the tender age of seven I had grown to disagree with her views.

     "Mrs. Binns, I think you're wrong 'bout the squiwels. They hate me."

      "Oh Terry, they don't hate you! Are you sure you're thinking of squirrels? Cute little critters that live in trees?"

      "Yes Mrs. Binns. I hafta pray every time I see one, 'cause I get so scared. They stare at me and try to hurt me. When you talk about the devil, the squiwels are behind you in the window and they wink at me. Once I wanted to try and make friends so I held one of your orange pieces out to a squiwel. It didn't take it. All it did was throw up on my shoe and tell me things."

      "Terry! Are you certain this happened? Goodness child, what did the squirrel say?"

      "It didn't say anything, it wrote in the dirt with its claws. It wrote, 'KILL MRS. BINNS'. But don't worry, I don't listen to the squiwels."

      I never had Mrs. Binns as a teacher after that. We moved to a different church, and I started getting teased in school. "Hey, who ya gonna kill, squirrel boy?" and "Want some peanuts?" were common questions that I soon learned were rhetorical. "No one, it's not like I do what they say! And I hate peanuts!" But it was to no avail. As long as I told the truth about my furry tormentors, I faced even more torment from my own species.

      Soon after this was when I had to start talking to the "shrink," as my father called him. I overheard my parents talking to each other late one night after I was supposed to be asleep.

      "Honey, I don't think these are normal childhood imaginings... Talking squirrels maybe I could understand, but his imagination is so violent and specific. And Terry seems to have these episodes more and more often."

      "Well, I hope medication isn't necessary. He seems like such a normal little boy other than these squirrel hallucinations, or dreams, or whatever they are. Do you know I found a drawing of his the other day? I think it was of himself at school, there were other kids laughing at him, and squirrels falling from the sky, with red eyes, and bloody fangs, pouncing on the others. He doesn't have any friends because of this thing!"

      "I know, I know... It's so self-delusional, he stained his shoe for the Mrs. Binns story, scratches himself when a squirrel has supposedly scratched him. And he's always falling asleep at school because he can't sleep at night... I sure hope the shrink can do something."

      That night, like many nights, I had a visitor. I was wrested from my terrible squirrel dreams to face the unholy terror of my squirrel reality. I'm not sure how they got in, possibly through the chimney, or some secret chewed through board. But they did, and often. A small weight, distributed across four tiny feet, paced across my chest as I awoke. My eyes opened reluctantly, a grimace on my face. I inhaled sharply at the sight of the evil, black face and bared, chisel point teeth. Screams, I had learned, were rewarded with a scratch across my face, so I rarely woke my parents any more upon a visit. My guest continued to pace back and forth, never taking his glistening, beady black eyes off my terror stricken ones. Finally, he stopped and took a deep breath. Smoothing his whiskers with one dexterous paw, he produced a caricature of a grin, baring even his uneven back teeth.

      "There will be consequences if you do not behave properly with the psychiatrist you will be seeing tomorrow." His voice was squeaky but rough, like a quiet, rusty hinged gate swinging in the breeze. It was familiar, I had determined there were perhaps seven frequent visitors; countless more appeared only once or twice. "We will be watching."

      "Why don't you just leave me alone!? I never did anything to- "

      "Silence!! You are not ready to know. Now listen carefully to your instructions, and do not interrupt..."

      The next day, I shook with nervousness, saying nothing as I was driven to a small, wooden shingled building near the towering city hospital. Dark clouds clogged the sky, but it was unpleasantly warm, the air felt stifling and tense in my nostrils. Led by the arm to a wood paneled room, I noticed my parents exchange worried glances.

      "Thank you, Dr. Parker. I hope you can... Please be gentle, we-"

      "Not to worry, your son and I are just going to have a nice chat."

      Dr. Parker smiled at me, his eyes merry behind small glasses, his mouth covered by a large graying beard. I averted my eyes and breathed rapidly through my nose, my agitated state demanding more oxygen. My parents left, and Dr. Parker directed me to a green velvet recliner as he sat down facing it.

      "Hi Terry." I stared at the floor, conscious of my breathing. "Listen, I know you probably don't feel like talking. I'm not going to make you talk. But I'd like to hear what you're thinking about..." I looked at him briefly, but my eyes shot immediately to the window behind his chair. There, appearing in the bottom corner, was a sleek grey rodent head, cocking its head with interest. My eyes widened, and I stared harder at the floor. I concentrated on a slight discoloration in the carpet.

      "Terry, you're breathing awfully hard, are you feeling alright? If you want anything, a drink, a snack, it's no problem. Would you like something?" I looked from him, to the squirrel, and back again with pleading eyes. Please, I thought, don't ask me any more.

      "Is there something in your mouth? Your cheeks are puffy..." He leaned forward for a closer look. Unfortunately, a tickle in my throat forced a sudden, violent cough. The contents of my mouth, a load of peanuts still in their shells, was ejected forcefully, covering Dr. Parker. He drew back quickly, a look of shock on his face. Pieces of peanut shell clung to his beard and stuck to his glasses. Soggy whole peanuts rolled down his front to plop softly on the floor. I looked back to the squirrel in panic. The dark rodent eyes burned with rage, piercing me with disapproval. They turned and disappeared from sight, and I was left alone with the doctor.

      The second therapist I went to was a specialist. His yellow page ad seemed too good to be true, and my father scheduled an appointment for a Thursday morning. My parents were a little concerned with his credentials, but were a little more desperate than worried, I think. I certainly didn't mind a few less hours of peer ridicule at school, and I was secretly hopeful this guy somehow knew the truth. He worked out of his home, a small farmhouse surrounded by a small unkempt lawn. A few acres of fallow fields lay beyond that, and the entire property was nicely devoid of trees and shrubs.

      His "office" was as unusual as the sign stapled to his front door. Doubling as his laundry room, it was barren except for a washer, dryer, and two folding lawn chairs. A Far Side was stapled to the wall, picturing a few cows, but all the text was colored over with black marker. Stapled next to the cartoon was a diploma resembling the awards my teachers sometimes printed out for me. I noted curiously that the corners seemed to be nibbled away. Dr. Izerwise looked young to be a doctor. He blinked a lot, and stroked his perfectly shaven chin. We sat in the chairs, the doctor studying me for a few minutes while I squirmed under his gaze. Finally, he drew a breath and spoke.

      "Are you a Hendrix fan, kid?"

      "Huh?" I gave him a puzzled look.

      He looked exasperated. "Jimi. Jimi Hendrix. He... Listen, never mind, it's not important. I'm not really a doctor you know kid. US West cared more about what my money was printed on than what my diploma was printed on," tossing his thumb in the direction of the wall. "Figures, the yellow pages might as well be called the ignorant pages. Makes me so mad! Never mind, it's not important. Listen, kid, I can cure you."

      I sat up. "You mean... You mean you can make the squirrels go away?"

      "That's right. Look here." He pulled a bluish pill out of his shirt pocket and held it out to me in his open palm. I looked closer at the irregularly shaped pill. It looked like Fred Flintstone. "Take this, and you'll be absolutely revolting to the entire Sciuridae family. That's latin for squirrel."

      "I know."

      "Well, you want to be rid of those squirrels, kid, this here's your ticket."

      I grasped what I was sure was a Flintstone vitamin, but hesitated. He cocked his head a bit, and I noticed he was missing part of his left ear. "What happened to your ear?" He muttered something about a "stupid dog" and glanced at his watch.

      "Listen kid, just chew up that delicious, magical little pill and those squirrels won't come near you."

      "I dunno... My mom told me never to take anything from strangers, specially drugs."

      "This is different, kid. It's medicine! And I'm no stranger, I'm B.D. Izerwise!"

      I shrugged and popped in the pill, eager for something to make my persecutors go away. I chewed it quickly. Grape. "This is just a flintstone vita..." I trailed off as the room expanded around me and objects lost coherency, melting and bleeding into one another. "What's... happening?"

      B.D. Izerwise danced in front of me, while sitting motionless in his chair. I was trying to figure out how he managed to do that, when I noticed his tail. A long, luxurious tail, swishing the ground behind his chair. Grape. I chewed again, there was so much pill. B.D. surprised me by speaking without moving his mouth, which now contained protruding front teeth.

      "Purple haaaaze, kid. Purple haze!" His voice echoed in time with his twitching, furry nose. I shut his disturbing image out by closing my eyes.

      "Tastes like grape..."

      "It does? That's strange. Good to hear you finally decided to start speaking again, though." I blinked. My mouth was full of asparagus. My parents looked at me with concern from across the dinner table, and I looked down at my half-eaten meal. My mom continued, "Dr. Izerwise said you never spoke a word the entire session. He said you can't make any progress if you won't talk to him."

      "I don't wanna ever go back there, mom," I said with my mouth full. I swallowed and put down the fork I was holding. The TV in the family room blared an advertisement - "Ten million strooong, and growing!" I began crying. "I never, ever, ever want to go back there!"

      "Ok honey, you don't have to! Hush, don't worry, dear! Why don't you lie down for a while?" She guided me to the couch, and I fell immediately into a fitful sleep, punctuated by dreams of purple squirrels dancing wildly to the sound of wailing electric guitars.

      I threw out our Flintstone vitamins, and told my parents to never buy them again. "I guess he's just growing up," my dad said, picking up a bottle of generic multi-vitamins instead.

      Years passed, and I got used to my unwelcome, constant companions. I became an unwilling accomplice to some of their schemes, to avoid the pain they threatened and often inflicted. I couldn't piece together a theme in their varied and strange plots, but gradually I stopped trying, and was able to function semi-normally in society. Sure, there were occasional embarrassments and frequent visits to shrinks, but I got on all right. Prom was a disaster, although I never made it to the dance; my date never spoke to me again after she found me bedded down amidst her shredded dress, pieces of fabric and sequins still stuck between my teeth. That was one of the worst lapses of normality, though, and one bright autumn day two years ago I found Kate, and with her, hope.

      She had beautiful blonde hair and wonderful lips perpetually touched with the hint of a smile. Her green eyes were large and kind, and very un-squirrel like. We met in a waiting room.

      "They tell me I've got paranoid schizophrenia. What've you got?" Her voice was liquid, sweet, calming.

      "Squirrels."

      She laughed, and I was in love. We got together for dinner, and reassured each other how well our respective medications were working. She was kind and forgiving, intolerant only of my squirrel episodes. I was able to hide my rodent influences well enough, I guess, and before long we talked of the future in terms of "us" and "our."

      I was happy, truly happy, for the first time. And the squirrels seemed to relent somewhat. I began to wonder if their intentions all along were to shape me into what I needed to be for Kate. A little quirky sure, but understanding of her quirks as well. After several wonderful months, I wanted to treat her to something special. I decided a candlelit dinner at her place would be a nice surprise. While she was at work, I made everything ready, then went to pick her up.

      "Today was a tough day. Mean customers, mean coworkers, mean boss..."

      "Sorry, hon. You can beat me up later if you want to release some tension." I winked at her and her tired eyes softened. "I've got dinner all done at your apartment, one less thing to worry about." We pulled up in front of her house just as the sun shone its last silver rays through the leafless trees.

      "Golly.. I'm so hungry." Her voice crystallized in small puffs of steam. The keys rattled in the lock, but she had some trouble turning the deadbolt.

      "Well golly! I'm so cold! Hurry, or I'll-"

      But I was cut off by her scream as she opened the door, her keys falling to the ground. The door swung open unnaturally fast, propelled by the weight of thousands of walnuts. They cascaded out and piled around our ankles, and my jaw dropped as I beheld the view through the door. Walnuts covered the floor, heaped two feet deep throughout the entire apartment. The wallpaper was scratched and torn, with a few barely discernable etchings - "Humans suck", "Skwerl Pride", and "Kate's no rodent!" I stared in disbelief. Kate did as well, for a moment. Then she turned, sobbing, and ran to her car.

      "Kate, wait! I didn't..." But Kate was gone, her tear-streaked face imprinted on my brain as her rusted Pontiac sped into the gathering gloom of twilight.

      I tried calling her. She wouldn't talk to me. She stayed at her mother's for weeks, and her mother did not like me. She called me once to yell into an ear still ringing from Kate's sobs. I sank into a spiraling depression, punctuated by fits of rage directed at my personal furry demons. Meanwhile, the squirrels' activity heightened, their frenetic visits made in larger groups so as to overcome my flying fists and stomping feet. Eventually, I gave in. I was fired from my job, and for two days I sat in my living room, dazed and degenerate. The squirrels were almost always present, to some degree. They skittered about the room, scampered over my chest, chattered to each other in some indecipherable, choppy language. One would sit for hours atop my head, while another peered in my ears and another brought me bread, which I ate out of habit, or instinct - I didn't feel hunger. At the end of the second day, all was quiet, and the squirrels seemed to have abandoned me. This change in routine piqued my interest slightly, but not enough to lift me from my hollow in the couch.

      After an hour or two of peace, one large, black squirrel marched in from the kitchen, slowly and solemnly. It stopped purposefully at my feet, sitting down with its front paws stretched towards me. Then, a melancholy, slow squeaky phrase left its tiny mouth, repeated gravely several times.

      "Tree trow zon. Tree trow zon. Tree trow zon! Tree trow zon!" Gaining intensity, the black creature shook slightly and wiggled its miniature fingers at me. I sat up a bit, curious as to what this might mean. Soon enough, more squirrels began filtering in, taking deliberate steps to form rows around me. Their voices joined their leader's in chanting the simple phrase, urgency obvious in their tone. Before long, more squirrels than I can ever remember having seen at once surrounded me. They accelerated their chant together, rising in pitch, swaying incredibly as one. The noise was deafening to me, pounding my ears. I realized suddenly that they weren't chanting "tree", rather, they were chanting my name, "teh-ree". My spine tingled. I felt compelled to do something, the air electric, my body suddenly charged and powerful. I barely heard a knock at the door. The squirrels were oblivious, practically comatose in their frenzied, swaying chant. The knock came again louder, with no response from either the hundreds of focused squirrels or the one bewildered human.

      Suddenly, the door flew open and the spell was broken. The silence in the room was stark as hundreds, perhaps thousands of beady rodent eyes turned from their center of attention to flash potent anger at the intruder. It was Kate's mother. Her hard face quickly dissolved into terror as she beheld the vigil her entry had interrupted.

      "Oh my God. What, what is going on... Whaaaaaaaah!" and they were upon her. She was covered immediately, as several large squirrels pushed the door shut behind her. I sprang to my feet to intervene, but the shock of the whole ordeal, and the piercing pain of sharp teeth and claws overcame me. The world tilted, dimmed, and went black.

      "Total nutcase, this one. Found 'im like that, all scratched up and bloody. But you should have seen the woman he killed. Must've died from sheer blood loss, or shock - don't know how somebody could do something that thorough, that grisly. It must've taken him hours..."

      I didn't open my eyes. I hoped it was a nightmare, I scoffed at reality. Squirrels, really? In what cartoon or cheap horror flick? But the men in white suits didn't vanish, I never woke up to anything but white walls, white sheets, white pills. Sleeping, eating, and mumbling with glassy eyes stern warnings about the squirrels is my new occupation. Too bad the only person who could ever substantiate my claims met her doom at their paws.

      And now, I hope you comprehend how deserving squirrels are of my hatred. To their credit, though, they've been the only constant in my battered, unfair life. The cause of my misery, perhaps, but at least I know they won't lose interest in me. Oh yes, even now. I don't expect to be sitting around here for long. A breakout plan is afoot, I believe. The squirrels are coming for me, soon.