(Art thou besotted by the words of Shakespeare, dear friend? If be it so, then thee may find enjoyment within my soon to be read work. Hearken and lend me thine ears: beware this twisted tale. For now is the story told, not in the perspective of man but in the perspective of squirrels)

The streets of Verona were home to the large and bustling market places. Laughter and general chatter rose on the warm air: squirrels jostling each other out of the way as merry tidings reigned.
Two squirrels clad in yellow and red walked along the pathway, laughing about nothing in particular as they aimed halfhearted kicks at the poultry for sale. Then, as the salesquirrel's outraged rebukes reached their ears, they walked away nonchalantly.
Gregory, one of the squirrels, turned to his friend Sampson and said "The quarrel is between our masters" Chuckles succeeded his comment.
Eyes sparkling, Sampson raised his paw and pointed at two approaching figures "There go the Montagues"
Gregory nudged Sampson as a sudden though struck his mischievous mind "Quarrel. I shall back thee" He then backed away and watched as his friend hurried forwards, looking rather apprehensive.
As the Montagues were about to pass him, Sampson raised his paw to his mouth and suddenly spat across their path.
One of the Montagues, a red squirrel called Abram stopped abruptly and looked shocked for a moment. Regaining his tongue, the bemused squirrel turned to Sampson and in a slightly accusing voice, questioned "Do you bite your claw at us sir?"
Sampson, looking gormless and bewildered, replied hesitantly "I do bite my claw sir"
Smiling and shaking his head, Abram explained and pointed at himself "No no. Do you bite your claw at us sir?"
Sampson, backed by Gregory, finally answered "No sir"
"Ah" nodded Abram and begun to walk away with an understanding smile. The older Montague squirrel followed in his wake, dipping his head at the two Capulets with a friendly manner.
Gregory hastened to intercept Abram. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle and a random squirrel rolled his eyes and pointed wearily "Look at them"
Gregory raised his eyebrows as he asked Abram "Do you quarrel sir?"
Abram looked amused "Quarrel sir?" He shook his head. "No no. No sir"
Gregory smiled "I am for you sir. I know no better"
Abram looked bemused and questioned "No better?"
The pugnacious Gregory insisted "Better sir"
Abram fiddled with his claws before looking up and staring at Gregory. With the air of someone who knew they had won, he said "You lie"
The Capulets looked stricken as the crowd laughed and clapped at Abram's clever words. Abram flourished and bowed before making his way onwards with the old squirrel following behind.
Gregory, furious at being humiliated so, rushed forwards and purposely stuck out his sword, causing the old squirrel to trip and stumble, falling onto an old wicker basket. The Montagues hastened to assist the stricken elderly squirrel upright.
There was a shout of mirth at this daring deed and Abram turned, pure outrage glinting in his flaming eyes.
"Draw! Draw you knave!" He yelled at Gregory and the two engaged in a ferocious sword fight. Taking this as a cue for a brawl, the remaining male squirrels drew their swords and leapt into the mounting fray, screaming curses and insults at their exhilarated opponents. 
For minutes the marketplace was now a place of growing mayhem and chaos as the air reverberated with the noise of metal upon metal. There were screams of pain, yells of victory and cries of rage as the two families fought one another as viciously as wild cats. Females and young squirrels ran, shrieking in terror, from the scene.
Suddenly a squirrel clad in rather dark clothing rushed into the fray but far from drawing his sword, he strived to intervene and pulled the fighters apart without any form of weaponry.
The squirrel, called Benvolio, raised his voice as he appealed to the crowd whilst halting the brawl for a while.
"Part fools! Put up your weapons! You know not what you do!" His voice quavered slightly as he continued "The Prince hath expressly banned fighting in Verona streets"
His words were greeted by silence. Every head had turned to stare at the latest newcomers.
A squirrel, clad in extravagant red and black clothing was striding towards the front squirrels with the utmost air of importance and dominance.
"Tybalt" A voice spoke softly. "Capulets kinsman"
Benvolio turned to his nearest friend who, with a look of solemnity, put up his sword with such vigour that Benvolio felt his fur prickle.
Tybalt raised his eyebrows as he surveyed the scene that was once the very meaning of chaos. His voice was hard, cold and disbelieving as he spoke "What? Art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?"
He drew out his sword with one swift motion and prodded the apprehensive Benvolio with it. "Tell me Benvolio. Look upon thy death"
The Capulets behind him smiled and twitched their whiskers with mirth.
Hesitant and losing confidence, Benvolio raised his sword and explained timidly "I do but keep the peace. Put up you sword or manage it to part these men with me"
Tybalt scorned and indicated Benvolio's blade "Drawn? And talk thee of peace?"
Too late Benvolio put up his sword but the damage was done. Whilst his friends laughed at this obvious victory, Tybalt turned with eyes cold as winter frost.
He gritted his teeth "I hate the word... as I hate hell, all Montagues and thee"
Tybalt drew his sword and cried "Have at thee coward!"
Then for even more impressive bravado, the pugnacious squirrel threw his cap into the air with a war cry of "Capulets!"
This was greeted with a shout of "Montagues!"  Then the families went back to fighting and mayhem reigned without question once more.
Benvolio found himself duelling against the skilled Tybalt whose blade cut through the air like lightning. Parrying and blocking each thrust desperately and with obvious difficulty, Benvolio was forced backwards until he was right up against a short wall. Tybalt sought an opening and it didn't take long for him to find one.
Benvolio emitted a exclamation of pain and reeled back, clutching his forehead which was bleeding from a jagged, deep cut that Tybalt's sharp blade had inflicted.
"Now hie thee home! Fragment!" Tybalt's eyes shone with obnoxious exhilaration.
One of the Montagues hastened to Benvolio's side to inspect the wound. Knowing how cruel it was to take advantage of Benvolio's poor fighting, the Montague looked at the fiery Tybalt and gritted furiously "Villain!"