I just talked a squirrel into committing suicide.

It was, I swear, totally accidental, the result of living in a city that has afforded me more contact with crazy people. There’s the guy in the park next door, who spends the day wandering around the grass while carrying on totally lucid conversations with trees. And there’s the older gent who converses with birds as he tromps down the street — true dialogues that the birds apparently engage in as well.

While watching two squirrels chittering at each other yesterday, I decided to try talking with the wildlife myself.

So, a little while ago, I’m sitting on a park bench overlooking a grassy area some 10 feet below. On a tree before me sits a squirrel, minding his own business and taking in the sunset. I strike up a conversation.

After a few moments of back-and-forth chittering, the animal paused, uttered something in squirrel speak and raced to the leafy boughs some 30 feet up. Then, with scarcely a pause, he threw himself into space, hurtling to the ground far below.

I wish I knew what I had said to the poor creature that caused him such pain. And I wish I knew what his final words meant — a final message he thought I would deliver to his family? A vile curse? A farewell?

Poor creature, lured to his death though misunderstanding. How will I live with the guilt?