I’m sitting here working this morning when I start to hear that familiar scratching, crawling sound outside. In a few moments, the squirrel’s head appears from the right side of the window. He’s hanging sideways, three stories off the ground, and looking in, about twelve inches from my face. It’s cold outside so I had the window closed, but I slide it open.
“Dude, Cheerios,” he says.
“Oh shoot, I forgot,” I say.
By the time I walk to the kitchen, get the box of Cheerios, and open the door to the deck, he’s already there, waiting.