I stood in utter fascination of this intriguingly amusing rodent and daydreamed for the briefest of moments what it would be like to raise this chipmunk as my own, teach it the ABC's of life; how to throw a football, how to properly put a nightcrawler on the hook of a fishing pole when you're out deep-sea hunting for a bass, how to strike up conversation with female chipmunks... He'd essentially be the son I don't have.
I decided to pounce the chipmunk and catch it and raise it as my own. It was at the moment I made the decision to pounce on him and raise him, that silly little chap (Mr. Jimminy Cricket, if I'm not mistaken) crossed my mind and nudged at me explaining the thoughts of wanting to catch this critter and raise it as my own is essentially positively correlated -- NAY -- parallel to what those crazy moms do who you see on The 60 Minutes "Inmate Edition." You know, those crazy, delusional ladies who steal babies from hospitals because they don't have their own.
My tummy rumbled with guilt for a brief moment; which only increased when it occurred to me how literally any time I see a squirrel I have the same day dream and want to catch it ... and no joke I've chased more than a dozen squirrels in the past 4 weeks.
I decided to let the chipmunk be and restrained myself from pouncing on it, continuing on my merry way.
Thinking back now, I can imagine Jimminy Cricket sitting back in his reclining chair with a leather bound copy of Crime and Punishment, a pipe, a red velvet smoking jacket; thinking smugly to himself, "Well played, Jimminy. You've foiled yet another chipmunk kidnapping attempt by using your persuasive moral arguments on simple fools who know nothing but selfishness, nihilism, and above all ignorance."
Thinking of how Jimminy Cricket is enveloping himself in the pure, unadulterated bliss of his seeming moral victory over the human condition by posing moral questions to bring out the best in a simple, fallen individual such as myself, I do feel a bit guilty.
Not because Mr. Cricket got the better of me, but because the only reason I decided not to pounce on the chipmunk was because while going through the list of things I would teach Lil' 'Munk (as he oh, so loved to be called) when he was my pet, the only thing that really matters in teaching your next of kin was what the chipmunk already knew, which is most likely obvious by now; hunting and trapping your own food and killing it with your bare hands and cooking it over an open flame.
Alas, I was saddened in my realization that I will never be able to teach a wild animal the way of the ''Hunt,'' but I am finding a bit of solace in the fact that I outsmarted the antennae off of Jimminy Cricket.
Well played, me. Well played.