Researchers have done a fine job in discerning the clever and resourceful survival tactics of certain ground squirrels out West: These small creatures fool their predators by adopting the predators' own scent (in this case, the predators are snakes) by chewing on their discarded skins and then licking their own fur.
They thus saturate themselves with Eau de Slithering Viper, or some other life-sustaining cologne. And snake smell is, to them, the very breath of life.
Corporate America, I guess, is no different. The company where I work (no stranger to snakes of its own, by the way) has been sold twice in six months - not a very happy prospect for a person such as myself, concerned about job security and the future.
But I am not the only one, it seems, feeling preyed upon. Our most senior executives apparently have been taking their cues from the invaders. Not long after we were acquired by an eccentric tycoon with a penchant for dressing in worn bluejeans, our ultra-conservative top executive started trading his Brooks Brothers finery for open, tie-less shirts and a lot more of the "slouchy" look.
I couldn't help but think of the snakes and the squirrels. (Of course, our top exec didn't chew on the billionaire tycoon's skin, so far as I know, and then lick himself all over. But he did adopt his sartorial "skin," nonetheless.)
All in all, I would rather work for a company owned by squirrels than by snakes. At the very least, you know that benevolent rodent ownership will permit, if not encourage you to store more than a few nuts in your pension plans for the lean years ahead.
And thus, save your own skin against the toughest predator of all - the economy.