Misa brewed steamed milk as usual. She forced her eyes on the thermometer rattling in a milky whirlpool. 80 degrees. She chose to ignore the chipping behind her. That was an issue for later. 110 degrees. Someone else would fix it. 120 degrees. Maybe. 140 degrees. Chip! Chip! 160 degrees. Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip!
200 degrees!
Hot milk spluttered out of the steaming mug and splashed on her face. If she didn’t have her glasses on, her eyes would have burned just as the rest of her face did. They stung like a slap or a cat scratch. If only there were a cat, then it would eat that stupi—
Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip! Chip!
Behind her was that insolent squirrel chipping away furiously on its acorn lunch. The squirrel had been coming in for one week now. And as routine, it would start its chipping at 11 a.m. on the dot, right when she was steaming milk for a latte. And each time, it would cause Misa to make some ness of some kind. She never found out why it came and she never understood why none of her coworkers bothered with it. They ignored it and its chipping whenever it came. The worst thing was the fact that it always settled behind her. Its tiny beady eyes appeared so malevolent and judging as if it were plotting her demise by scalding milk.
“Listen, you.” This was the moment, Misa thought, that she would give in to insanity. She was talking to the squirrel, something that was most likely a figment of her imagination. Her pride hurt in acknowledging its presence. “You better answer for yourself, before I drown you in the next drink I make.”
That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as the squirrel suddenly started to chatter angrily. Its beady eyes turned threatening, as if to say, how dare you challenge me!
The squirrel’s strange reaction frightened Misa. She worried that it would jump at her, so she took the foaming mug, full of hot steamed milk, and flipped it over on the squirrel, making a liquidy mess of the countertop. The method wasn’t ideal for drowning, but Misa hoped that the creature would die from the heat.
However, such a hope was futile. The squirrel rattled within the mug, banging against its walls violently. Misa could see indents forming on the mug like ugly warts, ballooning dangerously. Surely, the squirrel would burst out at any moment and scratch her eyes out. These thoughts had Misa cursing her impulsive foolishness.
Misa looked around for her coworkers, hoping for their help, but they all ignored her. It’s as if they couldn’t see her in her struggle. She begged them for help whenever they got closer, but they always walked past her. She was frighteningly alone with the rabid squirrel.
It squealed and rattled from the confines of the mug. Misa’s hand began to bruise. Wincing from the pain, she let go of the mug, and instantly jumped from the counter and hit her in the nose.
Then came the squirrel. It began to scratch at her face. Misa tried to pull it off, but it stayed in place, its tiny paws’ grip was strong on her cheeks.
Misa screamed, but no one heard her. And when she ran out of the cafe with the squirrel attacking her face, no one saw her. Her plight was hidden from them all. She ran for days and days, but still, no one saw her, and still, the squirrel did not cease its assault.
Misa should have thought before deciding to anger the squirrel, as even the smallest of creatures have the ability to cause great havoc.
Author’s Note: I’ve grown to love writing bizarre stories. Ones that are silly for the sake of being silly. I’ve stopped pressuring myself to write deeply and evocatively. Sometimes, all you need to do is write for the pleasure of whimsy and the hope of a reader’s smile.
