The Squirrel War

Note: This is the first a series of vignettes that will become a short, short story.

Though it is often hard to know just when things start, it seemed the War started when Jelly Reinharts' little brother, whom she was reluctantly babysitting, got his pudgy mitts on a squirrel and just about got his pudgy little face chewed off. The critter, panicked, did what any animal would do: clawed and chewed its' way to freedom, leaving the field victorious in the first battle of the Squirrel War. The traces of the beginning were indelibly scratched and bitten on Pudgys' face and certainly on his psyche, leaving him traumatized by the attack and disenchanted with cute little critters.

No sooner was Pudgy home from the Hospital, hands and face mummied in bandages, that the reporters descended on the slumbering town. It had been a slow news summer and since newspapers thrive on scandal and turmoil, the stories of rabid, roaming gangs of squirrels came as a welcome relief from the predictable summer lull of bake sales, pick-nicks and harvest reports.

For nearly two weeks, Mo's Motel, which had never seen better days, was sardine-packed with reporters that came from big cities near and far. Mr. Morris did the unthinkable. He found the "No Vacancy" sign and doubled the prices. Within two days the romance of being in the spotlight of world fame wore thin and the town began to get grumpy, with all those camera totin', notebook hoistin' strangers sulking about.The fast-talking ways of the reporters were unfamiliar to the town folk, who answered every question thoughtfully, even those that required no thought. When asked witty questions like:
"Was the beast armed?"
( Said with a sardonic grin and a prodding, arrogant wink of the eye.)
Pudgys' frazzled Mom shot back:
"Of course, it was armed--Legged too. And clawed and toothed!" This was probably the only true quote of the day and it was partial, as her added: "You Damn Moron" was regretfully and conveniently left out. Besides, she didn't mean to say "damn", she was going to say something far worse. She had taken to chain smoking while either answering knocks on the front (and back) door, or screaming "hello" into the constantly jangling telephone. Finally on the third day, after the endless parading of Pudgy and the pop flashes of the cameras, after the vain pleas for peace, in the dark of night, the family disappeared. They found refuge with relatives near the Hospital, where Mrs. Reinholt would recover from the "nervous breakdown". Luckily for him, her aim was bad or that lit cigarette would have burned more than the pesky reporters' eyebrow.

Along with Mr. Morris, of Mo's Motel, other people turned a pretty penny off the event. Mrs. Shelton, the proprietress, chief cook and waitress of "Ma's Home Cooked Cafe" hired all her friends to either help in the cafe or bake pies, cakes and rolls at home. She was feeding an army. Not only all the reporters, but gawkers from nearby towns, who came to witness the frenzy. All her time was spent behind the cash register or working the floor, giving orders and ushering customers in and out. She expanded her hours, staying open for dinner and was the only evening competition for Jerry "Mac" Mackins, who made a fortune at "Jerry Mac's Tavern and Lounge". The place used to be "Mac's Tavern", but Jerry Mac was savvy and doubled the number of letters on his sign and prices too. After hours the prices doubled again and he didn't sleep for days.

At Jerry Mac's the reporters spent freely and having been assigned to do "Human Interest" stories while waiting for a real war or disaster to hopefully arrive soon. They interviewed the drunks and locals, mining for scandal. It is amazing how alcohol will bring the worst out of people, help 'em locate long buried hatchets or make new hatchets, for that matter. On the positive side, you had to admit that at Mac's, the reporters were well liked and it was quite the lively scene. With loosened tongues and charged imaginations, castles were built out of little pieces of dirt. Liquor, lies, innuendo and fabrication flew to the moon and back. Slurry tales were told, each outdoing the other and there was fighting, real fist fights. Jerry Mac's "Adjuster", a sawed-off pool cue that never saw the light of day or dark of night, rested ready, handy and near, the cash register. Old wounds were opened and civility died, along with "plain ol' common" sense.

These human interest stories painted a bleak and grim picture of the town and her people. It seeded mistrust and what would later become the divide between the two factions:
The Squirrel Haters and the Squirrel Lovers.