My title seems like it comes straight out of David Sedaris's Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk.  Perhaps I just wish it to be.  I warn you friends, what come next may not be suitable for young adults with adult sensitivities.

Someone, I'm assuming a janitorial custodian of some sort, cleaned up the weekend rager thrown by the pair of squirrels living the good life in our 3rd floor bathroom.  The fluffy-tailed rats sampled every roll of back up toilet paper and trampled ever surface near a water source.

Someone cleaned it all up.  God bless said person.

When I saw that the bathroom had been repaired back to its original dingy luster, I also assumed that whomever had been tasked with the arduous process of cleaning up that Stage 1 rat den would have taken steps to never let this happen again.  I know I would have.  Not because I am some holier-than-thou workaholic, quite the opposite, I would be too lazy to ever ever ever subject myself to that level of cleaning again.

As I pushed through the door to wash my hands before class, the two grey silhouettes pushing their way into the wall let me know that any news of their death had been greatly exaggerated.  These fuckers were here to stay.