The small note was tucked under the front door, in spidery handwriting: “My compliments to the chef … but could you double up on the tabasco?” It was from the squirrel who has been eating the pumpkin out front. We tried pepper. We tried hot sauce. We tried everything. I wrote a book with a whole chapter about squirrels; you’d think I’d know better. Being outwitted by a creature with the brain the size of a BB is not flattering.