The squirrel didn't go outside like we'd hoped. It decided to stay and died squeakily a short while ago.
The cat got at it and was playing with it while we were out. I heard squeaking as soon as I walked in and ran into the living room to find the gruesome scene. I chucked the cat off the squirrel and scooped the poor thing up.
It was a mess, squirrel was clearly gonna die and obviously in pain. MrGhostBoobs scolded the cat for not having killed the squirrel straight away (yeah, good luck with THAT) and offered to "help me" throw the squirrel into the dumpster. I told him "it's still alive! It's suffering! We can't throw it in the fucking garbage alive!"
He countered with "Well I can't kill it, and it's not gonna make it." Which is fine, not everyone has the stomach for ending suffering on the fly. But I can't deal with letting a little bag of broken bones and missing parts suffer, so I apologized to the poor thing, took him outside and made it stop.
I buried him in the hostas.
Stupid squirrel. Why'd you come in here? Why didn't you leave while we had the doors and windows open?
Stupid cat. I hope you enjoy the empty laundry room that now houses you, your shitbox, bowls and bed till I'm gone in the am or till MrGhostBoobs lets you out. Nobody wants to look at you. You're a total jerkface.
I'm hungover and going back to bed.