I was late. Not being a morning person, this was hardly unusual.
As was typical for a Murphy’s Law kind of life, I hit every single light, tapping the steering wheel and grumbling under my breath in nonsensical curses as I waited.
My job wasn’t far. Not really at least. But the San Fernando Valley was always congested so far was relative. Miles were something that should be measured in hours and minutes, not distance.
Deciding to take a different route, I flipped on my signal and merged into the left turn lane. The street I chose was a little more suburban and with any luck, a straight shot to work.
Oh wow. So much better. I grinned to myself at making a right choice. Bite me, traffic Gods!
Guiding the car through gentle curves I continued to congratulate myself.
Yeah. What a weenie. There are always checks and balances and I was about to have a couple.
On the last curve, two little fuzzy gray things darted across my path.
I tried to hit my brakes but it was two late. Cringing, I felt and heard the thump of my tires going over said fuzzy gray things and I let out a whimper.
Pulling over and trying not to hyperventilate, I looked in the rear view mirror to see the crumpled little bodies that had once contained two essences of squirrel.
I waited, some part of me hoping for divine intervention or that my three-thousand-pound vehicle had somehow simply just “knocked them out.” Or even hoping for zombie squirrels. That would have been okay too.
None of that happened.
I was officially a squirrel murderer. It was something I was going to have to live with for the rest of my days. I had rodent blood on my hands.
With a heavy defeated sigh, I put the car into gear and continued toward work.
The animal hospital I worked at was waiting.