Blues for a Squirrel in the Rain
The squirrels ate all the birdseed. We greased the feeder’s pole so they couldn’t climb it. It rained. Hard. Out my window, I watched one lonely squirrel with his tail spread over its head scrounging under the bird feeder for dropped seeds. Occasionally, it would make a half-hearted attempt at climbing the pole, only to slowly slide back down. The squirrel cast baleful looks at me periodically. I felt sorry for it. So I wrote this piece.