At 3 a.m. yesterday morning, we woke up to some guy trying to get into our garage. He wasn’t quiet about it either. Initially, we thought it could be raccoon or other furry “friends.” My husband has a storied history of battling squirrels who continually taunt him outside his home office window. In fact, he watches a lot from his office window, earning him the moniker from our neighbor friends, of “Gladys” (as in Gladys Kravitz, the see-all neighbor from the t.v. show, Bewitched). Of course, it’s all in fun. This, however, was not fun. Our Chevy pickup has been broken into twice before (nothing inside to take), but the assailants were pretty stealthy about it. Not this one. So my quiet and reserved computer engineer husband, had had enough. Gladys was pissed off. I couldn’t resist writing a little ditty about what happened next:  (Poetry’s not my forte, so I apologize if the alliteration is off–and for the two cuss words. Sorry, Mom).

Rudely awakened from a peaceful slumber,

not a minute passed the witching hour.

A bang, a crash . . . (man, I hope we’re not outnumbered).

Hit the lights, turn up the power.

. 

Hey! Don’t we have a dog?

Where’s the snarl? Where’s the growl?

Curled upon his pillow, he’s sleeping like a log.

Wake up! There’s something on the prowl!

 .

A peek outside shows someone’s there,

sneaking, lurking, in our truck.

Hurry! Dress and cover up your underwear!

Quickly clad, out the door, hey . . . what the fuck?!

 .

This mild-mannered man of mine,

who’s only battled flickers and squirrels,

ready now for car thieve swine.

Full of gumption and drive, sans deferral.

. 

He sprang into action and just missed a fist.

Then swiftly grabbed him by his coat,

down he went, the ground he kissed.

But there was no time to cheer or gloat.

 .

During a scuffle of words and punches,

he saw the man was drunk or high,

most-likely looking for cash a’ bunches,

But instead ticked off this shy, computer guy.

 .

The suspect broke loose and ran amok,

cussing and stumbling down the street.

Run, run you stupid schmuck,

Here come the city’s top elite.

. 

Uniforms canvased, searched, and swept,

but found no visible trace.

He sneaked, slinked and away he crept,

Forcing the cops, to give up the chase.

 .

We returned to the house all pumped and wound up,

greeted by Fido, now alert and awake.

Well, you’re no help, you oblivious pup.

You can kiss good-bye that T-bone steak.

 .

Who knew this nerd of computers and code,

could unleash such fists of fury.

Unafraid, he seemed in action mode,

But now admits, it’s kinda blurry.

 .

Unaccustomed to vigilante work,

his muscles and joints felt angry and sore.

But he has no regrets of going berserk;

message sent: don’t fuck with Mr. Moore.

 .

Needless to say, it took a while for our heart rates to normalize and in retrospect, it may not have been the smartest thing to do. The man could have had a weapon. We were lucky. My husband said that he just reacted, figuring that after 38 years of never fighting, it was time for a throw down . . . and he hoped the squirrels were watching.