Inspired by having seen far too many cars on the road bearing the boastful bumper sticker, "This car climbed Mount Washington," I would like to suggest a certain bumper sticker for a certain squirrel in our yard.
"This squirrel climbed our storm door."
How he does it (and yes, it is a male) I do not know. That outside door, leading to the deck on the eastern side of our house, is pure smooth metal and glass. And unless this is the world's first rodent to have suction cups instead of claws affixed to the ends of his digits, I am baffled at where he comes by this talent.
He does this regularly and hangs there, looking in. Often he does this just as I'm settling down for my beloved breakfast of Scottish oatmeal with sliced banana. Or my lunch of chunky peanut butter on a toasted pumpernickel bagel. Or sometimes if I'm just having my coffee and reading whatever book I happen to be immersed in.
He disrupts me with his steely-eyed glare, delivered from a gravity-defying 6 feet on high, a climb miraculously achieved solely to fulfill his aim to manipulate through guilt: feed me. Feed me. Feed me again.
His appetite holds me hostage. So too does his athleticism and cuteness.
Today he was in position again, toward the very top of the door, staring in at me just as I started rinsing the dishes after lunch. Only this time, he had company - another squirrel was now hanging on the opposite side of the door.
Looks like I'll have to buy twice as many bags of nuts next time I go shopping.
And a second bumper sticker.
"This squirrel climbed our storm door."
How he does it (and yes, it is a male) I do not know. That outside door, leading to the deck on the eastern side of our house, is pure smooth metal and glass. And unless this is the world's first rodent to have suction cups instead of claws affixed to the ends of his digits, I am baffled at where he comes by this talent.
He does this regularly and hangs there, looking in. Often he does this just as I'm settling down for my beloved breakfast of Scottish oatmeal with sliced banana. Or my lunch of chunky peanut butter on a toasted pumpernickel bagel. Or sometimes if I'm just having my coffee and reading whatever book I happen to be immersed in.
He disrupts me with his steely-eyed glare, delivered from a gravity-defying 6 feet on high, a climb miraculously achieved solely to fulfill his aim to manipulate through guilt: feed me. Feed me. Feed me again.
His appetite holds me hostage. So too does his athleticism and cuteness.
Today he was in position again, toward the very top of the door, staring in at me just as I started rinsing the dishes after lunch. Only this time, he had company - another squirrel was now hanging on the opposite side of the door.
Looks like I'll have to buy twice as many bags of nuts next time I go shopping.
And a second bumper sticker.
5 comments:
"social climbers" - very apt!
Our family climbed Mount Washington in a Ford Galaxie in 1975! I spent the entire time on the floor of the back seat, crying and screaming to be let out!
Our squirrels climb the lattice attached to the porch and adjacent to our French door. They scare the cats quite frequently.
Kat
LOL! By the time I'm reading this he may have taught the whole family to climb and you will very likely have had to consider replacing the rapidly wearing door! LOL! How about getting some pictures of that for us. It's too cute and funny!
My husband had to put special metal screening--I forget the technical term, oh, "hardware cloth"--over our screen door to protect it. So I know what you're talking about.
He can probably fly up Mt. Washington in a jiffy...!!
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