Where does a 1-ton squirrel sit?

(Answer: Anywhere he wants!!)

OK, admit it: Most of us have befriended some hefty big-butt buddies in the parks or our own backyards and paid homage to their bottomless squirrel appetites by tossing enough nuts their way to bring on a case of repetitive stress injury. These squirrels are the Mack Trucks of the trees, 18-wheelers among the arboreals, and their healthy heft has left me no alternative to buy in bulk so that I may continue to contribute towards their bulk.

So I am not surprised at hearing that researchers in South America have turned up the fossilized remains of a 1.5-ton rodent that lived 4 million years ago. Is a rodent the size of a Brahma bull supposed to be shocking?

Those of us enslaved by the daily rituals of pitching pecans and hurling hazelnuts know better. Inside the body of every one of these 1,000-gram cuties is a 1-ton ancestor screaming to get out. I dare anyone to tell me that the guy who hangs out regularly on the ledge outside our front door, gazing in through the bay window, doesn't have designs on our sofa - as well as the walnuts in a dish a few feet away. I'm surprised he hasn't found the doorbell yet.

Rodents have thrived for millions of years because, let's face it, they're clever. I figure it's only a matter of time before I come into the living room and find one of them snacking while seated on the loveseat, the TV tuned to "Animal Planet."

Millions of years later, they still know how to throw their weight around.