There's a dead squirrel in my driveway.
I'm going to ignore it and hope something carries it off by morning. Because I am classy and humane like that.
(Actually, I mentioned it to Jimi in hopes that he'd man up and take care of it, whatever that may entail, but he said, "It'll be gone by morning, with all the cats and stuff roaming around." Alrighty then. You're the boss. And there's no fucking way I'm touching a dead squirrel.)
Just remembered the cat's outside, nearly puked at the idea of him eating a dead squirrel, and ran to the door. Fat lazy bastard was chillin' on the stoop, like a good kitty does. No blood on his chops, either. Yay!
I'll keep you posted on the developing story.
UPDATE: 16 hours later, the squirrel is still there. Jimi's gonna have to get a shovel.