This may be my last broadcast, although I pray to God for his help and blessing in this, my hour of greatest need.
The squirrels are massing at the border, too numerous to count, and filled with a diabolical vigour. At night I can hear their tiny claws scrabbling at the fence. By day they sit in the treetops, counting my guns. Gun. Counting my gun. Even a squirrel can count to one.
I fear I brought this on myself. Enraged by the squirrels’ lust for the sweet roots of my begonias, I bought an air rifle and spent a few happy afternoons getting my eye in. On day three, I shot my first squirrel, from my sniper’s eyrie – the bathroom window.
Since that morning I have killed at least a dozen, and yet still they come. I will keep transmitting for as long as I can. Do not try to help us – save yourselves. May God bless you all.
