Squirrels

I got on a train today and was accosted by a gang of squirrels. Actually, it was a gang of aliens dressed as squirrels. The obvious question is... why were the aliens dressed as squirrels? Or maybe it's... why was I accosted by a gang of aliens (who were dressed as squirrels) on a train...? Well no matter, the point is, I was accosted... and it wasn't nice! It was clear to me that it was aliens dressed as squirrels, because of the language they spoke. Everyone knows that squirrels can't speak. Or if they could, it'd be a kind of toothy, chattery Sqirrelese, which bore no resemblance to any human tongue and was only understandable by fellow squirrels (I won't go into the subtle linguistic differences between Grey Squirrels and Red Squirrels, because (A) it is a bone of contention amongst conservationists; and (B) there wouldn't really be much point). So anyway, the fact that my accosters, who looked like squirrels, spoke - and not in some kind of Squirrelese - was a dead giveaway to me that they were not squirrels, but were, in fact, beings of some other description who were 'disguised' (if you will) as squirrels.
Now I've seen dwarves. Not just in the circus, Time Bandits or Lord of the Rings (and let's face it, they're not real dwarves in Lord of the Rings, are they? I mean, how tall are they?). Where was I? Oh yes, dwarves... I've seen 'em! I know it's not a very 'PC' term to use these days, what with your 'horizontally challenged' and whatnot, but come on, let's face it, a dwarf is a dwarf! And I'm not just talking 'a bit shorter than normal'; I mean honest-to-God, three-foot-and-under, could-be-mistaken-for-a-gnome-if-they-stood-still-long-enough dwarves. But these people were not dwarves.
You know, the squirrels.
(who were not squirrels)
They were far too short even to be the most diminutive of Diminutive Personages.
They had to be, to fit into the squirrel costumes.
And they were most definitely costumes.
I mean, what real squirrel comes up to you, as you sit on a train, minding your own business, working your way through Black Belt Sudoku, and says...
'Fnah-x Iallik n'p snRRrln'boh_t, xux feerreeett, parson-eho'Y aHrbfffffzzippy cabbidgbrrrrgah?'
Exactly!
And it was definitely a question, by the way. And the tone was decidedly less than pleasant. And the entire demeanour of these otherworldly hoodlums (there were about a dozen in all) was about as far from amicable as a Chicken Tikka Masala is from being an Authentic Indian Meal.
Naturally I was affronted. I mean, you would be, wouldn't you? The first thing I did was point up at the sticker on the window, which had a picture of a squirrel in a red circle with a line through it. The squirrel/alien gang feigned concern. They all looked at each other, put their little furry paws over their mouths and made all kinds of sarcastic comments in their alien tongue. Then they laughed.
It was the laugh that did it.
It was callous, desultory and - although they sounded for all the world like Chip'n'Dale (the cartoon chipmunks) and all their brothers and sisters - it was the most evil, heartless, sadistic laughter I have ever heard. I would expect such a thing from a gang of baseball bat-wielding Mafioso thugs, but not... well... whatever they were.
So I got up out of my seat, thinking: That's it! I'm not going to tolerate such antisocial behaviour from a group of squirrels, aliens or even - God damnit! - aliens-dressed-as-squirrels! So I took a deep breath, hung on to the luggage rack (the train was getting a bit twisty-turny by this point) and shouted at the top of my voice: 'Stop this incessant laughter, you evil gang of aliens or squirrels or whatever the hell you are!' And then the ticket collector entered the carriage (which, by the way, was empty except for me and my accosters).
'Tickets please,' said that man.
To which I replied, 'I insist that you throw these hoodlums off the train at once, Mister Ticket-Collector-Man!'
'What hoodlums?' said he.
'Why, those hoodlums over th-'
I turned to look.
They were gone!
All twelve of them.
Although their laughter still rang in my ears.
'I think,' said the Central Trains employee, 'you may have been dreaming, my lad.'
'But the squirrels!' said I.
'Squirrels?' said the suddenly-apprehensive-looking ticket collector.
'Well actually, aliens,' I clarified. 'They only looked like squirrels.'
'Erm...' The train man was backing slowly away.
'There were twelve of them (approximately)!' - and then it dawned on me - 'The chairs,' I said; 'look under the chairs!'
'I don't think I need to see your ticket after all...'
'But I was accosted!'
'Write a letter of complaint. Must be off now...'
And the ticket collector left the carriage.
And I was left alone once more.
Entirely alone.
Not a small, seemingly harmless mammal (who was actually an alien) in sight.
Not for the entire journey.
Until...
I got off the train at Worcester. Not surprisingly, since that's where I lived. I looked around the platform. Nothing. Except for a group of schoolchildren playing on their Nintendo DS's, a tatty old man with a dog on a string and a small boy whose mother was having a helluva time keeping him from leaping joyously onto the track.
But no aliens.
Not dressed as squirrels, hippos, ferrets, aardvarks, elephants or any manner of beasts.
Apart from...
I was just breathing a sigh of relief, hitching my bag up onto my shoulder and putting my experience down to too many late nights and E-numbers, when I saw them... twelve of them... sitting there on the edge of one of the benches... mocking me with their evil eyes... and laughing... although not like chipmunks... but like...
Ants!
Ants?
Yes, ants!
And do you know what one of them came up to me and said?
...
'Fnah-x Iallik n'p snRRrln'boh_t, xux feerreeett, parson-eho'Y aHrbfffffzzippy cabbidgbrrrrgah?'
...
I was out of there faster than cheap TV's out of Kwiksave!
And then I cam back.
And I squished 'em.
Well they were only ants.

[ fin! ]