So I come home and check my carefully laid traps. Queue my best evil villain victory laugh, muahaha! I have caught you Mr. Squirrel. Why don't you just sit there while I look up recipes for squirrel stew and tell you my plot to take over the world which is safe for you to know for the few minutes you have left since it is impossible for you to escape my clutches, make your way back to the squirrel army, lead a strike force back to steal my flux capacitors, and destroying me in an emotionally satisfying manner to make the audience happy while leaving a tiny bit of doubt about the finality of my end in case the studio green-lights a sequel in which I come back horribly scared and looking for revenge.
So perhaps it's a bad idea to indulge in elaborate revenge fantasies, particularly ones which involve elaborate mechanical deaths which I don't have time to watch and which you will inevitably escape from.
So here is the deal. I am going to drive you to a much more expensive zip code and drop you next to a tree that has a nice park view and probably costs more than my entire house all by itself. So let's not have any ill will here Mr. Squirrel. I don't want to worry about squirrel ninjas cutting a hole in the ceiling above my bed and diving on me as I am sleeping with sharpened teeth and claws. If that should happen... let's just say I did bookmark that recipe for squirrel stew.