it's bigger on the inside, baby

Dear mrs. squirrel,
I see you commented on my last post.  Oh, and I am so relieved to read that you are alive...Read: sarcasm.  This is my house now (re: the clump of leaves held together with bird-spit in the middle of this photo).  When you left me, we were in a 3.5 million dollar home with signed masterpieces of French Impressionism hanging on the walls.  Now, I usually wake up to a god-damn crow standing over me with his eye on my pinkie ring. Child support?  Where is my child?  Come on over and let's talk about it.  Let's not sort this out on the internet.  Let's do it squirrel to squirrel, in the language I taught you to speak; the language of love. There's a five-pack in the fridge right now, a four-pack in the fridge right now...just hurry - i'm waiting...and i'm in the mood to "talk" all night l-o-n-g.
-sw