Viewer Discretion (and Common Sense) Advised
This episode contains mild chaos, unprovoked squirrel warfare, and questionable life decisions performed by a trained idiot on a caffeine diet.
Do not attempt to negotiate with wildlife, operate blenders mid-existential crisis, or recreate any scenes without adult supervision.
Enjoy the madness.
*********
How I Got Into A Fight With My Neighbour(A Squirrel)
By Kade(The Majestic White-Haired Man Who Definitely Isn't a Vampire… probably.)
Hello internet! My name is Kade.
Yes, that Kade — the majestic white-haired man your neighbor probably told you about. The one who walks out at 2 a.m. with a mug of black coffee like I'm about to summon demons or host a TED Talk on chaos.
People sometimes think I'm a vampire, which is ridiculous. Vampires sleep in coffins. I sleep in regret and bad decisions.
Yes, am a fabulous albino. yes, people stare at me like I'm a cursed anime character walking down the street. Which, to be honest, is my aesthetic.
My face is quite pale and permanently confused, my eyebrows are chaotic, and I have this uncanny ability to end up in situations that would get a lesser man hospitalized.
Remember this too: my fans call me KaoticKade, the only man alive who can spill cereal, trip over air, and almost get arrested by a rodent in the same morning.
And yes, I'm fully aware that sentence alone sounds like the plot of a rejected cartoon pilot. But don't worry, you're here now, so you're officially doomed.
My neighbors avoid eye contact. The mailman once left a note saying, "Please collect your mail before it collects you." The birds know my name. The wind whispers my Wi-Fi password. But this story… this story isn't about me.
It's about my neighbor.
A squirrel.
A 12-inch-tall, tail-fluffing, nut-hoarding menace who decided that my life wasn't stressful enough.
You might laugh. A squirrel? How bad can that be?
Oh, dear reader. That squirrel wasn't just any squirrel.
He was the reincarnation of every unpaid debt, every spilled coffee, every misfortune that ever mocked me.
He was Chester.
And this… is the story of how I, Kade, a man with more hair volume than emotional stability went to war with him.
*****
The First Encounter
It began on a peaceful morning. I was sitting on my balcony, enjoying the rare silence, sipping my sixth cup of "decaffeinated" coffee (which is a lie, by the way that stuff is 99% caffeine and 1% hope).
I was journaling about the meaning of life when I heard it — a tiny, arrogant crunch.
I looked up.
There he was.
Chester. Sitting on my railing. Eating my walnuts. MY walnuts — the expensive imported ones that cost more than my electricity bill.
He stared right at me.
Not like an animal. No, no. Like a tax auditor who knows you've lied.
His tiny hands rotated the walnut with surgical precision, and his eyes — those dark, beady eyes sparkled with unholy amusement.
I stood.
He didn't move.
I said, "Hey, little guy, those aren't yours."
He tilted his head and— I swear to Hamha, he threw the shell at me.
That was the first act of war.
He declared it silently, smugly, with the confidence of a furry warlord.
From that day forward, Chester and I were mortal enemies.
******
The Escalation
Day two. I set a boundary. I sprinkled pepper on the nuts. A simple, peaceful deterrent.
Chester came back with sunglasses.
A tiny pair. I don't know where he got them, but he wore them like he owned a yacht.
He sniffed the nuts, sneezed once, and proceeded to eat them anyway while maintaining direct eye contact.
I lost that battle, but I was not done.
Day three, I installed a motion-sensor sprinkler system.
At 5 a.m., the sensor went off — not because of Chester, but because I forgot about it and got blasted like a wet cat.
I screamed. My neighbours screamed.
Chester watched from a tree, clapping.
He clapped, reader. He really did.
Like a tiny villain at the opera.
By day four, I started hearing noises in my attic. I thought it was the pipes, or perhaps my sanity. But when I checked, there was a stash — MY stash — of coffee beans, instant noodles, and an SD card (that I still haven't dared to check).
He had broken in.
He was evolving.
*****
The Psychological Warfare
You'd think I'd fight him with traps or logic.
No. Chester didn't respect logic.
He respected dominance.
So, I declared my counteroffensive. I printed a "No Trespassing" sign — in bold font and taped it to the tree outside. I even drew a little squirrel with a red X over it.
The next day, there was a response: He bit off the red X. Just that part.
Then, I found a walnut on my doorstep. Not cracked. Perfectly whole. As if to say, "Try again, mortal."
He was taunting me.
He wanted me to lose composure.
So, I tried diplomacy. I placed an offering — some peanuts in a small bowl, a gesture of peace.
The next morning, the bowl was gone.
Not empty. GONE.
Three days later, I found it upside down on my car, filled with squirrel poop.
That was the moment I knew… we had entered the Cold War.
******
The Day of Reckoning
Sunday morning. I was sweeping the porch, muttering curses in three languages, when I saw him again.
Chester.
On my balcony.
Wearing a tiny leaf crown.
Behind him? Two more squirrels.
He had recruited soldiers.
"Alright," I said, setting down my broom.
"You want a war, you little dictator? You've got one."
I took my old drone from the closet , "SkyLord 2000" — and mounted a peanut on it like a bomb. My plan was simple: lure him out, scare him off.
But when I launched it, the drone lost connection and spiraled into my neighbor's pool.
Chester watched from above. I'm not joking — the squirrel laughed. It was a tiny squeak, but it was laughter.
By noon, my pride was shattered. My drone was dead. My dignity was in hospice.
That's when I decided to end it.
I climbed up to his tree, armed with nothing but a broomstick and my last shred of sanity. He was there, sitting like a king on a throne of twigs.
We locked eyes.
I said, "Chester. This ends today."
He blinked once — and dropped a walnut on my head.
That was his answer.
********
The Peace Deal
It wasn't until Dr. Flex intervened that peace was restored. He came by for his usual "neighbor sanity check" (which I failed, by the way) and found me shouting at a tree.
"Kade," he said, sipping his iced tea like a villain from a daytime soap. "You're arguing with a squirrel again."
"Again?" I said.
He ignored me and sighed. "Let me negotiate."
He walked to the tree, bowed, and said something in Squirrelese — probably Latin with emotional trauma.
The squirrels listened.
Within minutes, they brought down a walnut. A single walnut.
A peace offering.
Flex handed it to me with a smirk. "There. Peace has been restored. Don't break it."
I accepted it, reluctantly. Chester nodded from above, as if sealing a sacred pact. I nodded back.
It was over.
Or so I thought.
*****
The Diabolical Ending
That night, I placed the walnut on my shelf — a symbol of truce. I poured myself a drink, sat on my couch, and laughed. The war was over. I could finally sleep.
Then — thump.
Something hit my window.
I turned.
Another walnut.
Then another.
On the balcony, in the moonlight, Chester stood illuminated like a tiny god of vengeance holding a stick like a staff.
Behind him, a dozen squirrels emerged from the shadows.
They chattered in unison.
The war drums had returned.
I stood there, glass in hand, smiling like a madman.
"Fine," I whispered. "If it's war you want, it's war you'll get."
The next morning, my neighbours found me hammering miniature barricades around my garden.
The peace treaty was a lie.
The war had just begun.
And I, Kade— majestic white-haired, possibly immortal, caffeine-fueled man of vengeance— swore one final oath:
"By the gods of caffeine and chaos, I will have my revenge. Even if it takes a thousand walnuts."
End of Episode 1: The Squirrel War Chronicles(To be continued, probably against raccoons)