For those Yuppie grey squirrels considering a vaca on the Isle of Brits this year, you might want to book a cruise to the Carribbean instead.
That's because, due to a glut of your kind throughout England, Scotland and Wales, hunters have open season to cull you guys. As if that weren't insult enough, many of you are winding up in Farmer's Markets and thereafter in squirrel souffles, squirrel sandwiches, and squirreliscious pate.
As reported in a January 7th edition of The New York Times (I know, I'm a bit behind on my catablogging), some Brits have recently developed an appetite for you cuddly creatures, and not simply because of the "taste just like chicken" factor.
No, the push for a squirrel in every pot has a nationalistic theme as well: You vacationing North American grays have stayed too long and, due to prodigious reproduction, have become a threat to the indigenous British cute patootie: the pointy-eared red squirrel.
So grays, that's just a head's up, 'cause the puddies and I don't want anything to happen to our buddies. Of course, if you can't trade in your tickets, I suggest you get a sunburn, some fake Spock ears, and some "How to Acquire a British Accent in Ten Days" tapes for your Ipod. Then maybe you can fit in. But if I were you, I wouldn't chance it.
After all, even though you dig a million holes in the lawn, spill all the birdfood out of the feeder, and gobble up the tops of my chrysanthemums, you are welcome here at Che No-lan, and though the kitties might tease you, neither them or I would ever eat you.