Agnes Pricklethorn, an old lady notorious for bad housekeeping, was having a terrible Tuesday. Not only had she tripped over her cat, Mr. Fluffernutter (who, admittedly, blended seamlessly with the dust bunnies), but she’d also discovered a family of squirrels had taken up residence in her attic.
“Right, that’s it!” she declared, brandishing a feather duster like a weapon. “Operation Squirrel Eviction is a go!”
She marched up the creaky attic stairs, Mr. Fluffernutter trailing hesitantly behind, leaving a trail of fluff. Upon reaching the attic, Agnes confronted the squirrels. “Alright you furry freeloaders,” she shouted, “Time to pack your nuts and get out!”
A tiny squirrel, presumably the patriarch, peeked out from behind a pile of old newspapers. “Squeak?” he inquired politely.
“Squeak nothing! This is my house, not a woodland resort!” Agnes retorted. She waved the feather duster aggressively, sending a cloud of dust motes swirling through the air.
The squirrel family, unfazed, started pelting her with acorns. Agnes dodged and weaved, a bizarre ballet of duster vs. acorns. “Oi! That’s assault with a deadly acorn!” she cried.
Suddenly, the floor gave way beneath her. Agnes, Mr. Fluffernutter, the duster, and a shower of acorns plummeted through the ceiling, landing with a resounding crash in her living room.
Covered in plaster dust and slightly bruised, Agnes looked up to see the squirrels peering down through the hole in the ceiling. The patriarch squirrel held up a tiny, hand-written sign. It read: “Vacancy Available. Excellent housekeeping (formerly).”
