I thought I had him this time. Even though a scant few hours had passed since the corn was put up as a deterrent to keep the bird niblets safe, it was depleted none-the-less. And atop my pole feeder he sat, munching away, oblivious to my evil stares. So I stalked out there, waving and shouting, and watched him scurry away to the safety of his tree branch. "I've got to do something," I thought to myself. I knew that there were semi-expensive anti-squirrel devices available at the hardware store, but that wasn't going to happen. So I did the next best thing: I made one.
My first efforts at protecting the hanging feeder last year were actually successful. Even though weather had forced the one time flat piece of veneer that was my vermin deterrent into a bendy shape, it still did the job.
He couldn't leap from a close branch, he couldn't jump that high off of the ground, and I would watch in glee as he slid off of the thing time and time again. But, the garage was now empty of all pieces of veneer, and a substitute was in order for the pole feeder. So I settled on a piece of cardboard. 
Yes I knew that the Chicago "spring" would turn my ingenious invention into a mushy pile of corregated fibers withing hours, but I wanted to see the bastard just try and get to the top. I retreated to the safety of the dining room, poured a cup of coffe, and waited for him to come back. And waited. And waited. 2 crossword puzzles later, there was still no squirrel. I peeked out at the corners of my yard, only to see that he was perched atop the fence, in the far corners of the yard, staring back at me. It was go time.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" I pleaded. His reply? "Mother nature."
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" I pondered. I myself knew what he meant, but he was a dumb fucking squirrel.
"You see," he explained, "this is spring. It will rain. I am content to sit here and let the last remainder of my stored winter fat fuel my body while I wait for the weather to turn that piece of flimsy cardboard into pulp. When that finally happens, I will resume my dining at the buffet table that you refer to as the bird feeder."
I was taken aback. His english had become very good. His manners had improved, and he was actually showing remarkable restraint, poise, and awareness. Now I am not one to take to violence to solve my problems, and probably should have just taken the damn thing down. But my inner caveman took over as I picked up a rock and threw it at him. I missed of course, not before wildly shrieking "COMMUNIST BLOOD SUCKING BUCK-TOOTHED HELLHOUND!!" or something vaguely along those lines. As he scrurried away, I could hear his maniacal laughter mocking me. "What are you gonna do now, big brain?" he taunted.
"What now? Let me tell you what now. I'ma call a coupla hard, pipe-hittin'
