To set the stage for my latest Brush With Death, the L&T and I were packed, late, and trying to get the hell out of town when I realized I was one cat short inside the house (a measure needed to make sure she doesn’t become fox food).

I finally found the cat under the fleece blanket hanging over the couch. I mean, the blanket moved, and what else could it be, right?

So I stuck my hand under the blanket, grabbed the first furry thing I found, and pulled out a… pissed off chipmunk.

Do You Hear a Little Girl Screaming?

I’d love to say I reacted in a deeply manly fashion and simply dropped the Chipmunk, but I’d be lying.

Nor will I say I “screamed like a little girl.”

Frankly, that would be demeaning to little girls everywhere, who couldn’t help but display more composure than I did.

I made an odd, strangled noise, followed by an odd, high-pitched, very-loud strangled noise.

I then dropped the crazed chipmunk directly on top of my foot, which caused me to make another odd, high-pitched, very loud strangled noise.

Let’s just say I’m thankful there wasn’t a video camera rolling.

A few minutes later – after the L&T’s hearing began to come back – we tipped the couch up and  using powerful weapons with exceptional standoff capability (brooms), managed to coax the still pissed-off chipmunk out the door.

I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Sure, laugh it up and all, but I’ll bet those of you smirking right now never saw the English documentary movie about the dangers small furry animals pose to humans, but I sure as hell have. Simply put, I reacted the way I did because I know the dangers:

The rest of of the family trip to Healdsburg was tame by comparison, and I’m happy to be back home, where there are rumors of big bugs and Golden Stones waiting to pop (delayed a little by the abnormally cool, thunderstormy weather we’ve been experiencing).

It’s going to be a full week, Undergrounders (deadly chipmunks or not). Better hang on.