Floater

The case of the drowned squirrel

I found a dead squirrel floating in our pool. I thought it might have been foul play, so I called the cops. They had questions. Was I high on narcotics? No, just life, officer. Was this a prank? No, squirrels don’t play possum, they’re squirrels. Was the phone call a prank? No, caller ID killed prank calls shortly after video killed the radio star, but unlike the murder of Biggie Smalls, the cops actually solved those cases.

“Well, did the squirrel have any enemies?”

I hung up the phone immediately. The squirrel had enemies all right. My coworkers, Mortimer and Bodhi. They were always chasing squirrels and threatening to kick their squirrel-asses. Actually, that’s not true. Mortimer and Bodhi are often eating, walking, extorting us for treats, peeing, pooping, napping, and giving the mail carrier hell, even though I’ve told them a thousand times not to engage in cliches. But the thing is that if a squirrel interrupts any of those activities, our dogs will chase that squirrel, and if they catch him, they’ll fuck up his shit.

Or, so they like to say. Because they’ve never actually caught a squirrel.

Or had they?

Suddenly, the case went from murky to clear. Mortimer and Bodhi were the prime suspects.

Front: Bodhi aka Bodacious aka Loquacious aka Dildozer. Rear: Mortimer Duke aka Mort Man aka Captain Insano aka Felix La Poubelle

I needed to get rid of the body. So I told Mortimer and Bodhi to work on their alibis, while I got the pool skimmer and the green garbage bin.

I worked out the details poolside. I’d scoop the squirrel out of the water, plop him in the green bin, and close the lid. The only wrinkle was the skimmer. The net was too big. If I played it wrong, or caught a bad break, the squirrel could get stuck in the net, and I’d have to untangle him.

Hard pass.

I’d just leave it for Carlos, our pool man, and get the dogs a good lawyer.

I started toward the side of the house to put the skimmer back. I got three steps, then froze. In the distance, I heard a siren. It was probably nothing, just another LA story, but it spooked me.

I’m easily spooked.

And grossed out by bloated, chlorinated rodent carcasses.

Which put me in a situation. It wasn’t quite the “Bonnie Situation” from Pulp Fiction, but it was a situation, nevertheless. I needed The Wolf.

Unfortunately, Marsellus Wallace had blocked my number. The Wolf would not be coming directly, or at all.

I looked at the squirrel, then at my skimmer. It was go-time.

Getting him out of the pool was no problem. I swung the skimmer over to the bin, then hovered for a moment. Flip him like a flapjack, fast and confident, I told myself.

And so I did.

But it didn’t work.

So I flipped him again. This time I heard a thud. I looked at the net. It was empty.

I put the skimmer away. As I walked back to the get the bin, I thought about the squirrel. I hoped he’d a good life, full of adventure and snacks. I hoped he hadn’t suffered at the end. And then I hoped that he’d forgive me for putting him in the green bin.

Damn. The green bin.

The trash truck had picked up the green bin the day before. It was empty. Hence the thud. In my plan I’d figured the squirrel would rest on a bed of cactus clippings. There was a shred of dignity in that.

Instead, the squirrel was at the gunky bottom of an empty bin. His body would rot in that sauna, periodically showered with kitchen scraps, and eventually buried beneath cactus clippings, before being hauled off to the city compost.

It was a raw deal. But in this dog-eat squirrel world, that’s how it goes.

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All politics is loco

Good news: Spencer Pratt says that if he loses the mayor’s race, he’s leaving Los Angeles. Never let anyone tell you you’re vote can’t make a difference.

Bad news: There’s a one in four chance Pratt wins. If that happens, I might have to leave Los Angeles.

Weird news: Three progressive members of the LA City council dissed their fellow progressive, Nithya Raman, by endorsing Mayor Karen Bass. That sounds like a betrayal, but Raman actually endorsed the mayor’s reelection bid two weeks before jumping into the race. That’s the political equivalent of the tenth dentist admitting the other nine are right about Crest toothpaste.

Mark your calendars I’m doing it live

I don’t know what you’re doing Friday, May 29, at 11:30am Pacific, but I’ll be chatting about writing with my friend Amran Gowani. Join us for what promises to be the anti-social event of the season. To register and get a handy reminder, click here.

You need to laugh, I need to sell books. It’s a win-win.

Not Safe for Work is available at Amazon and all the other book places. Murder and Other Distractions is available here. And Ride/ Share can be purchased here.

IAYA: I ask, you answer

1. Mortimer and Bodhi think it’s best to crowdsource alibis. I told them that was risky, but they insisted. What have you got, situation normies?

2. Why did Marsellus Wallace block my number? Wrong answers strongly encouraged.

3. If Pratt wins and we’re forced to leave LA, where should we go? Asking for me and Christina.

4. Am I the only one who misses prank calls? Share your truth.