Road kill

Yesterday, there were two calls to the cops for injured squirrels.

I'm not kidding.

Squirrels.

You could hear the dispatcher struggling to not laugh on the scanner.

Today -- a deceased porcupine. That's how the call went out -- deceased. Not dead. Not run over. Deceased.

And I can't point a finger too emphatically, because I remember that I called the police when I hit a cat on Fourth Street (the cat was still alive and howling like a sonofagun), but still ... a squirrel? Seriously? When the situation was resolved, the responding officer, also clearly trying to not laugh, reported that the squirrel had been transported to the animal shelter and that he was not occupied any longer ...

For the record, hitting an animal and reporting it warrants a questioning of your sobriety. Just so you know, when you hit a squirrel and call 911 to report it ...

In unrelated news: It was difficult last week to take Hurrican Norbert seriously. You can't take anything named Norbert seriously. And it kept reminding me of Norbert(a) the Norwegian Ridgeback from Harry Potter.