The Mailbox

SANITY ON BACKORDER

From Hive Peak Boulevard

By Danu Marche

Humor Columnist

Published: March 11, 2025

Synapse & Spectacle

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The Great Squirrel Annexation – and why my mailbox is contested territory

Some people worry about property taxes. I worry about rodent-based land grabs.

This week began with the simple, humble task of getting my mail. I had no idea it would devolve into a territorial dispute straight out of a history documentary narrated by a man with an English accent and too much gravitas.

There’s a fine line between “quirky neighborhood wildlife” and “emerging nation-state,” and the squirrels of Hive Peak have crossed it — probably while carrying tiny maps and highlighters. My mailbox, apparently, sits on the new border.

It started innocently enough: a squirrel perched on the post, lounging like it had paid rent. I approached with the diplomatic caution of someone who’s seen The Godfather and knows what a “message” looks like. The squirrel didn’t move. Instead, it reached down, patted the mailbox door once, and stared at me like a customs agent who suspects my passport is fake.

Naturally, I escalated things by trying to open it anyway. This prompted a slow, deliberate tail flick — the rodent equivalent of a security dog’s low growl. I could practically hear the bureaucratic wheels turning: We can neither confirm nor deny that you live here.

By midweek, I was convinced this wasn’t just one squirrel, but a coordinated campaign. Evidence? On Tuesday, I spotted two of them running cable between the maple tree and the gutter, presumably for surveillance. On Wednesday, a third was seen burying something suspiciously shaped like a tiny flag at the base of the mailbox.

And then there was today’s sighting — the latest entry in the ongoing Squirrel Exchange: crouched next to the wooden post of my mailbox, helmeted in what I can only describe as a hollowed-out acorn cap (or it was balding). It was tapping an acorn against the pole like a war drum, pausing every few beats to squint at me as if gauging whether I’d yield the territory peacefully or require a full siege. The acorn never cracked, but my nerve almost did.

Midway through this rodent coup, I made the mistake of mentioning it to my neighbor, who immediately accused me of “projecting unresolved authority issues onto wildlife.” Which, fine, maybe — but also, why is it always my property being occupied? She says it’s because my yard “has character,” but I think it’s because my mailbox leans slightly to the left and makes a satisfying clunk when closed, like the kind of place a squirrel revolutionary might store classified documents.

It’s now become a daily stand-off: me with my grocery coupons in one hand, them with their smug little sentry poses. Sometimes they let me take the mail without incident. Other days, I’m forced into a ridiculous waiting game where I pretend to check my phone until they “allow” passage. I’m one passive-aggressive nut cache away from filing for rodentian asylum.

So here we are: a human with an address and a rodent militia with better real estate instincts.

“If anyone knows the correct etiquette for negotiating with small, fur-covered bureaucrats, please advise — preferably before they start charging me rent.”

©2025 Danu Marche