Yes, it’s true. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to confess, but the plethora of hate stemming from the community toward the skunk assassin has stymied my attempts at admission. I am now prepared to receive “what is coming to me.” For those of you determined to avenge the rubbed-out rodent, I will neither fight nor flee. But first, I implore you to hear the story of how and why our furry friend met its untimely demise.
It’s fall. The acorns, now fallen from the mighty oaks, blanket the ground. While a hindrance to those walking off the path, the nuts spell out mealtime for all of the furry little squirrels scurrying around. I find myself often losing ten minutes at a time blissfully watching these creatures frantically go from nut to nut. I settle into a tranquil peace where the cruelty and complexity of the world melts into the simple serenity of nature.
But by Hi-Rise one October morning, my tranquility was ripped away from me by an unbearable sight. While watching my little brown buddies, a flash of white on black disrupted the view. A skunk. A skunk was encroaching upon my meditation and my squirrels.
Rage filled my heart and my eyes. My memory immediately swept me back to witnessing my childhood companion, my kitten Caesar, being brutally murdered by a weasel. Caesar had been frolicking among the new, spring flowers. He would see a tall one, sneak up on it, shake his tail and pounce on it as if it were his next meal. While Caesar bounced around, I played catch with my father. But a howl tore the air, louder than a siren and harsher than a donkey in labor. I could only run to see what was left of little Caesar just as that weasel disappeared into the woods.
And now this omnivore was eyeing my new companions. Was there no way to save my squirrels? Must every helpless critter that we befriend share Caesar’s fate. No, we must save them all. And so, I grabbed a rock and launched it at the skunk’s head. He faltered, and I lunged. I picked up a stick and thrust it right into the beast’s belly, watching the grass beneath splash red. I refused to let up, smashing the skunk’s skull until it lay still and then more. I just couldn’t stop as the memory of my Caesar egged me on.
I looked down at the remains of my fury as I tried to gather myself. I turned.
Students from the surrounding Lo-Rise apartments came out to see what had just happened. They saw a dead skunk. They saw a stick covered in blood. They saw me walking away. I didn’t care what they thought.
So you see, I took the life of a skunk. Many here at Wesleyan have contended that the life of a skunk is at least that of the life of a human, maybe more. What kind of punishment do I have in store? What kind of pain is about to be brought to me?
Am I to be hit by a car? Beaten by a really big stick as some have threatened?
Whatever it is, I accept it. I am at peace with it. Caesar is avenged.
And that fucking, bastard-piece-of-shit skunk is dead.
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