Time takes its time in this period of isolation at home. We find our way to separate rooms, separate books. Bill makes himself happy as usual in his woodshop. Bob the Cat seems aware that something unusual is going on. Days of rain make the confinement more gray. The empty street hisses a bit less.

Gazing out an upstairs window, we see that a squirrel has finally conquered the bird feeder. In spite of the sharp-edged aluminum flanges protecting the tray, the squirrel has found a way in. It hunkers down on the sunflower seeds, stuffing its face. How did it get there? Did it fly from the roof of the garage? Perhaps the dried-up Christmas wreath parked on the pole provided a jumping-off point? We remove the wreath, and return to our tasks. A short time later, the squirrel is once again spotted raiding the bird food.

So we stay at the window, watching. I mean, what else do we have to do today?

Then…it happens! Below the feeder sits a concrete yard ornament, a pelican souvenir from former days at the beach. That bald and beaked head furnishes the spot for the squirrel to take its leap. We shoo the squirrel, and Bill moves the pelican a squirrel-proof distance away. Soon enough, returning to the feasting place, the squirrel spends a few minutes scrambling around the feeder pole, looking for another way up. Curses! Foiled! Frustration for the squirrel. Entertainment for us.

Why is it that in a universe obsessed with cuteness, we—that is, I–don’t think squirrels are cute? They have whimsical fuzzy tails. They scamper and chase. Their onyx eyes gaze with a sly cleverness worthy of Disney animators. But they are not cute. They are a nuisance. They chew their way into attics. They dig holes in the garden. They eat the bulbs you tenderly planted and, if they can, they raid bird feeders. NOT cute.

My squirrel notes:

–The squirrels in downtown Toronto are black. They are cute. They are not in my backyard.
–There are no squirrels in New Zealand. Don’t send them any.

Indeed, a New Zealand friend recently visiting in the US thought the squirrels in New York’s Central Park were cute. That is, until someone wickedly suggested that he take some bread cubes into the park and feed them. (Probably illegal). Needless to say, the friend was soon attacked by a swarm of hangry (that’s a description meaning hungry and angry usually applied to people) squirrels. After taking temporary refuge on top of a park bench, he created a diversion and ran from the park in a panic.

We miss our neighbor who moved away, along with his live traps. He used to relocate squirrels to north of the river. Some of them clearly remembered the prime real estate with walnut trees at our house. The bird feeder, however, is once again off limits.

Squirrels are not cute.

Still, they are not the most pressing affliction in my community today. Perhaps you’ll have time, like us, to observe what’s going on in your own backyard, and find it amusing.

Stay safe. Be well.