It can’t be very fun to be a squirrel. That thought struck me as I pulled in my driveway this evening. Somehow the garage door was accidentally open and there was a squirrel hanging out in our garage.
I tried to shoo the little fellow but he looked like he was in no hurry to leave. Think about it. If the best home you ever lived in was a bunch of leaves stuck high in a bare tree, a crappy suburban garage built in 1959 would seem like a mansion.
Like I said, I tried to get the furry rodent to skedaddle, but he just hid somewhere. I tried to put myself in his shoes (I know, squirrels rarely wear shoes) for a minute. The poor think probably spent half the fall running around collecting and hiding nuts only to forget where they were or have some screeching blue jay steal them. In contrast, I can have Nutella any time I please and I never have to fight Cyanocitta cristata for it.
As far as I know he is still somewhere in the garage. As long as he doesn’t pull a Kato to my Inspector Clouseau and drop out of the rafters on me, I’m willing to let him live the high life for a bit.