Well, only if you'd consider

Well, only if you'd consider ground squirrels to be worthy of
victimhood status.
Which I don't. While the kiddies were napping on Sunday afternoon, my
sister and I went to the local needlework store. She's recently taken
up knitting and wanted some fat needles with which to knit a hat. We go
and come home. Enter the house and all is well. No hassles. This
morning, however, when we're downstairs, seeing them off, my nephew,
Colin, decides to shout, "Aunt Kathy! Look! You ran over a chipmunk! COOL!"
But it wasn't a chipmunk that was flattened by the right-front tire of
the car: it was a ground squirrel. Poor little guy. He was positioned
in such a way under the tire that he would have made a lovely fireside
rug for one of the Little People---you know should the Little People
employ taxidermists. Flat. As. A. Pancake. Arms outstretched. Eyes
bugging. And I didn't even notice. No telltale bump. No ground squirrel
screams of agony. No nothing. Christi, my sister, didn't even notice
and she was on the passenger side of the car. Now that I think about
it, I proabably ran the little guy over twice,
because my sister's minivan was crowding the parking area and I had to
maneuver to get into the spot. Do I feel guilty that I squished one of
God's little creatures with a Grand Marquis? Nope. It's payback time,
baby. One of those damn things scared the life out of me a few weeks
back. I was taking trash down to the garage, one had weaseled his way
into the garage to hide in the woodpile, which they love
to do. It was dark. I saw motion out of the corner of my eye, and
thinking it was a mouse or something of the sort, squealed. Wimpy, I
know. But when it comes to rodents, flying or creeping, I'm a
girly-girl. I squeak and head for high ground while calling for the
husband to come and deal with it! But he wasn't home this time.
I had to rely upon myself. So, taking a deep breath and trying not to
freak out more than I already had, I turned on the light, and then
opened up the garage door. Once the situation was illuminated, I saw it
was a harmless little ground squirrel and afforded him the means to
make a run for it by leaving the garage door open until he was out.
All's well that ends well, right?
Nope. I squealed like a stuck pig and if there was ever an undignified
action, it's that. I hate that. I can't help myself, though. So, of course, it's not my fault: it's the squirrel's. He made me squeal: hence he had it coming. It was just a matter of time until the playing field was leveled.

Yeah. Mmmmhmmm. That's it.