|Saturday, Nov. 09, 2002 || Why I believe this particular squirrel was male|
This morning, Nathan and I met a squirrel.
Well, sort of.
It was about 8:50 AM, and in our humble abode, Mom has a rule on Saturday morning. If there are no sporting events pending, the kiddos are to stay in their rooms until 9 AM. This gives the darling spouse and I some sleep-in and/or quiet time without the patter of little feet, the sounds of video games or Nickelodeon, or that musical phrase (insert whine here), "Mom, what can I have for breakfast?"
Nathan had ventured from his room for the morning call-of-nature and then hurried out to the kitchen to assure me that he knew it was not yet freedom-from-his-room time. As he spoke, something caught my attention in my peripheral vision.
I looked out our French doors to see a gray squirrel meandering about the patio, scampering toward the step and the doors.
"Nathan, come here!" I whispered, motioning for him to proceed slowly. I was certain that Mr. Squirrel would dart back out into the yard as soon as he sensed movement behind the glass.
But to our surprise, Mr. Squirrel did not scamper away. Rather, he hopped up onto the step and leaned back on his hind legs, peering into the lower windows of the doors.
As he swayed slightly back and forth, his gaze darting from left to right, I could almost hear him saying, "Hmmmm. Looks interesting in there. I think I'll take a closer look."
He grabbed a hold of the tiny window ledge at the bottom of one door and practically pressed his fuzzy little nose to the glass. He moved his head from side to side again, and then, much to our surprise he...
Knocked on the window.
Mr. Squirrel was knocking on our French doors.
Would you believe I actually considered, briefly, letting him in. He was kind of cute, after all.
At the sound of his rap-a-tat-tat, Bella, cat in residence, decided to take a look.
"Okay. Now he will bolt," I thought.
Bella pressed her nose right up to the window.
"Alright, mister, I just dare you to try something....uh....squirrel-y."
The sight of a big furball of the feline variety didn't even phase Mr. Squirrel. He continued peering in, tapping at the window with his tiny little paws.
He then proceeded over to the second door. He peered in, almost squinting, wiggling with enthusiasm.
And then it happened. Mr. Squirrel became Stunt Squirrel.
He backs up. He takes off. He leaps.
BAM! Headfirst into one of the glass panes.
That is when I decided that this is undoubtly a squirrel of the male variety.
Upon touchdown with the patio, he darted off in the opposite direction, pausing at the edge of the patio. He looked around, shook his head, and wiped his face with his front paws.
Then, I swear, the little rodent struck a pose.
"I meant to do that."
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