So the other day I was heading out for work. I was stepping outside when I noticed a squirrel sitting on the brick railing sprouting from my apartment building. He was munching on something brown, white, and fuzzy, and was quite involved at it. I paused to look.

It was a bird. A sparrow, to be more precise. The squirrel was chewing on the its head, with the body clutched in his hands.

I took a step forward, and it stopped chewing and looked at me with its beady black eyes. The squirrel had been gnawing on the sparrow’s head and whether it was found dead or made that way I couldn’t tell. It’s beak was wide open, almost as if it had died making one last shriek. The squirrel continued to look at me, with blood glinting off his mouth.

Once I took another step forward, the squirrel clutched the bird in its mouth, ran up a tree and sat on a branch. As I slowly walked out toward the street, it continued to stare at me, taking slow bloody chomps on the sparrow’s head.

Freaking nuts.