Attack!

We are under attack.

What sounds like gun shots are hitting our house. A sharp crack! echoes throughout the house every few minutes, sometimes rapid fire, sometimes only single shots.

It's making a nervous wreck out of the cats. Eli, the muscle man, is crouching every few minutes, then trotting to the window to do lookout duty. When he can see nothing amiss, he goes about his business, only to be in the crouch position a few seconds later.

I'm beginning to get fearful of walking outside. I've considered an umbrella, but would that really be protection from the harsh warlike assaults?

The danger isn't over after the ammunition hits the ground, either. Hundreds of round, slick objects cover the ground, and I feel like someone is going to do a vaudevillian act, their feet moving rapidly back and forth, while their arms are flapping above their head as though attempting flight, before landing on their tush.

That someone will probably be me.

What have we ever done to deserve this treatment?

Why are we being assaulted?

Do the oak trees hate us so much, they are trying to kill us all? It's like the trees in "The Wizard of Oz", only worse. Being hit by apples can't hurt as badly as being pelted by acorns.

If you come to my house wear a helmet.

And tie a pillow around your bottom so the fall won't be too bad.