Credit: Ron Soltys

I’ve wanted a squirrel for a while now. They’re just so gosh darn cute. Bounding through the grass, chasing each other up through trees and scaring the hell out of me when they dart out of nowhere because my iPod earbuds are screwed into my head too tightly.

And let me tell you, these squirrels are real lucky that they aren’t ugly. When startled, my first instinct is to swing my fifty-pound backpack at the assailant. But when I look to see that my mighty attacker is nothing but 16 ounces of black fluff, well shucks, I just go to pieces.

Squirrels are a pleasant surprise on my morning rush to class. I’d love to have my very own squirrel greet me with a sassy flick of the tail and maybe something to snack on while I race the clock to my first class. I just don’t know of any squirrels who would do that willingly.

Of course the only solution is to catch my own, and it’s not as though it would be hard either. I’ll use the old distract/attack method and bag myself some buck-toothed bounty. A little diversion and a quick hand would make that fur ball mine forever.

Now don’t get me wrong. I plan to treat this squirrel nicely. He’ll eat whatever he wants, assuming it can be paid for with my meal plan. Holiday nut assortments? Sure. Honey walnut schmear from Einstein’s? Not a problem. Those nasty whole grain energy bars? All yours buddy. And he’ll have the finest quarters. An entire dorm to himself — when he’s not in his bowl.

“Bowl?” you say. ” Bowl,” I say. It’s the only way to keep the nut-addict and me together. If you actually read the Hallways Handbook then maybe you remember section 1.92. It talks about pets and stray animals. It makes clear that the only animals allowed in the dorms are fish. Well, maybe you caught the latest on the Discovery Channel. What they discovered was the rare squirrelfish, and yes, that is the story I will be telling my RA.

I’m going to equip my pet with a rodent-sized diving helmet. When the RA comes by to inspect my room after countless complaints from jealous floor mates, I’ll just give my pal the heads up.

“Into thy bowl squirrelfish!” One command and he’ll strap on his helmet and dive in. Squirrels may not be allowed in our dorms, but fish are fine. It’s a foolproof plan … once I can come up with an explanation for my fish’s strange tendency to float rather than swim. I’ll also have to explain his shocking resemblance to Spongebob’s friend Sandy.

Maybe those excuses just won’t fly. What if Hallway Law prevails? I guess I’ll have to turn the wittle beast loose, and what a sad day that will be.

The next time I cross paths with him, it’ll be as I’m rushing off to class. He’ll have to scream at me or wave his paws to catch my attention because I won’t be able to hear him over my music. I’ll stop walking, crouch down and unscrew my earbuds, as is courteous iPod-user behavior. He’ll whisper something to me, and I’ll pull back with a smile on my face once he’s finished.

And if I knew the secret, I’d tell you, but seeing as this is the future we’re talking about, I have yet to find out. Something tells me it will concern a new special on the Discovery Channel reporting on the phenomena of furry water dwelling creatures.

Kristine Gill is a freshman prejournalism major and columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact her at [email protected].