I expected this. I did.
And it was all my fault, I accept that. I let him get to me.
If I had just left well enough alone, I would have just had to endure his gymnastic feats in order to obtain the prize of his desire.
But, no. I had to interfere and thus I ended up snapping the one branch altogether, which brought the feeder down. Dang-namit. Bullocks, I knew better, and I still let that thieving tree rat get the better of me.
So now the feeder is placed in such a way as to make it a lot easier for him to steal all the seed. Which is fine, I suppose, but he doesn’t realize that he is actually shooting himself in the foot.
Not that I would ever resort to violence, no no.
̿’̿’\̵͇̿̿\з=( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿
Oh, I have speculated on various means of torture, certainly. And I now completely understand the all-out war Tim waged against the squirrels at the Lake. As I hid in the back of the cottage with Gizmo, he paced the property hunting the snark, er, black squirrel that dared to infringe on HIS bird feeder.
Nay, not my thing, tis death. Far better to just let it be.
Poor thieving tree rat doesn’t realize that my seed budget only goes so far, so feed at the trough little rat fink, lap it up, cause that fount will run dry soon enough, at the rate he’s going.
Certainly, he is in no danger from me.