Today I stared down an angry squirrel. There may be much to learn from our little friends.
My workspace is now in a small office on what was once the porch of a very large Tudor-style stone and timber Manor that was donated to Eastern University back in the 50’s. As such, I have windows that open, light switches in strange places, and an old wooden window that now opens into the office next door. It’s very VERY different from the padded walls and canned air of the cubicle dwellings in which I’ve worked these past few years, for which I am very VERY grateful.
So, given the beautiful fall weather, the sunshine and the cool breeze, I opened my window this afternoon. A huge pine tree is just outside, keeping the building cool and shaded on sunnier days. Its lovely branches frame a gorgeous view of a winding tree-lined road and a beautiful stone gatehouse, peaked in Spanish-style terra cotta tiles. The Intramural Ultimate Frisbee team sometimes practices here, but usually the only humans to cross the view are the tattooed and blue-haired students walking to campus from the train station down the road. The late summer breeze blows, crickets chirp, and birds sing their farewells.
Then, I heard a strange croaking sound, like the rhythmic gagging of a hoarse accordion with a hairball. I looked out the window, but couldn’t find it. A coworker passed by and stopped, asking if I heard that strange sound. Only after standing and looking up into the tree did I see the culprit.
A squirrel stood on a branch that reaches by my window. It was holding a huge acorn in its mouth, was flicking its tail, and was glaring angrily into my office.
Before I began working in this little room, it was an empty storage area and hallway. Because it was used for storage, the blinds were pulled and kept closed for years. When I inhabited it this past month, I dusted things off, opened the blinds, ordered quite a few desk supplies and started working. It’s nice being a new box on the org chart because I can create my job from scratch rather than filling someone else’s shoes.
Unfortunately, it also meant that this poor squirrel had never seen nor heard of humans so close to its lair. I stood there and watched the squirrel. It looked startled to actually see another creature, particularly one of a human sort, staring back into its beady black eyes from only three feet away.
Then, it spun around to face me, took a hunched position and began barking its squirrelly snarl with much ferocity and tail wagging. I didn’t move other than to cross my arms and wait.
The squirrel lunged forward an inch, spitting so furiously that I felt it would surely loose its acorn. I only tilted my head in thought, wondering how long it would continue.
Then the squirrel froze. It jumped to the side towards the trunk and just out of sight, but I leaned in to look around the trunk at it. It sulked backward slightly… turned… and leapt to another branch, scampered up the trunk and jumped out of sight above my window, fleeing my terrible and unwavering human stance.
Now, all I hear are the crickets. I’m sure my little friend will be back. But now it knows it needs to share its space with creatures that are very different from itself.
I Haz One.
