Security breach

There are squirrels in my attic. Or hopefully, just one squirrel - but now is the mating season. My humble yet respectable home has been turned into a den of iniquity, rafters throbbing to the rhythms of jungle woodland love. It hurts, a little, to think that some bushy-tailed roué (having carefully scented his territory) is now enticing in naive lady squirrels with promises of all the cardboard boxes they can chew and new loft-insulation to bed down in. Compounding this catastrophe are the discoveries that a) extermination is best left to the professionals and b) professionals are dashed expensive.

Understandably, questions have been asked:

Am I not responsible for everything that happens under my roof?
Surely the squirrel invasion is a reflection of my own personal incompetence? I mean, why wasn't I up there personally manning the defences with a claw hammer? Surely that's my job, isn't it? Oh, I could blame the builders who assured me that the flooring I paid for would be squirrel-proof, but those would be weasel words. Why can't I just man up and admit that I am personally and directly responsible for every event that happens under my roof, whether or not I'm present at the time?

Of course, this is just the latest in a long line of disasters which can be laid at my door. The clutch failing on the car; the "very bad cold" epidemic; the boiler failing. To say that I am responsible for sorting these messes out is to admit that they are entirely my fault, just as much as if I'd strewn nuts across the back garden and up my stairs.

The only problem I have is that, although I ask, none of my critics can explain what they would have done differently.