Squirrel

I just stared a writer's workshop with The Writer's Studio here in S.F. This is one of our first projects, so I thought I would post it to see what y'all think. The assignment was to practice writing in the First Person from the perspective of a critter. Since I've been tormented by the fluffies in the backyard, I figured this might be catharsis to see things from their perspective. We only need to share the first page of what we write, so the story trails off a bit toward the end.

Another sunny October in San Francisco—Indian summer, I guess—and this, the last big push of harvest season before winter. We’ve got to squirrel away enough food and replant the crops before the rains come to keep up our stores up for next year.

On this lazy day, however, I was lounging around the nest, enjoying the quiet the kids left me when they headed off on their own this last spring. The man, also, has been away all summer foraging for his own prizes, leaving me to fend for my self. But really, we have a great spot in The City, so even in the throws of wet and rain, our supplies never dwindle too low—the conveniences of a metropolis…

Though I was up with the sun, I had taken my time this morning getting ready: stretching my limbs in my daily yoga routine, fluffing my tail, preening my silver fur, breaking fast on a few peanuts and sunflower seeds; and now was languidly day dreaming under the eucalyptus tree, half way to la la land when I heard her.

The weather stripping on the back door crackling ajar

Drawers full of silver tools jangling shut

The suction of the fridge

Swoosh of the pantry

Bags crackling

Whistling

With a leap and a bound, I was over the fence, through the fallen leaves, and up the flight of stairs to her door before she could pour her cereal. We have a rapport, this human and me. I look cute, and she feeds me.

I remember when I was pregnant. Hers was the only house that cared enough to leave us some nourishment (even the peanut basket had gone empty over the holidays). She, however, always found it in the kindness of her heart to leave the compost bin open and low to the ground on that back porch. I don’t think we would have made it through those dark months if it weren’t for her generosity!

Since then, we’ve developed our trust and communication. Sometimes she will leave gifts of walnuts or avocado. Other times, she just leaves the back door open so I might traipse in and scavenge for myself through the kitchen scraps.

Occasionally, I’ve had to get her attention and let her know that she’s been a little stingy. When this happens, tactics such as pulling up flowers or knocking over planters has sufficed to keep her on point. Thankfully, I hardly ever have to resort to such devices. The garden has been so full of delicious sunflowers, and succulent tubers, all I have to do is knock over the stems or pull up the roots and chomp away.

At first, I wasn’t so sure about this bumbling creature knocking about in the garden where I have sown my seeds for so long. She cut down the forest of nasturtium and clover, after all, and that canopy was my cover from the hawks as I scurried about vulnerably on the ground. Then, she started tilling up the ground and had me really worried when she cast out next year’s harvest!

In the end, though, I realized what a blessing this particular human was to the bounty of my life once all those flowers started to bloom. Now, I have fertile ground to plant all of my native seeds AND the abundance of juicy ornamentals to supplement the gems of her back porch offerings. Maybe some day, after she’s proven herself, and if she approaches very slowly with no sudden movements, I will allow her to brush my tail