Cadence Paramore – Squirrel Translator

We have always feared the Furless Giants. They would shoo us and call us “rodents.” It never bothered me, but I learned to stay away. To avoid interaction. I lived most of my life scrounging on what nuts I could find from local trees and feasting on the Furless One’s remains that they’d place into strange plastic containers. I thought I would live and die this way, but she changed everything.
I don’t know her name, but she calls me “Buttercup.” However, she knows that I despise this name (she must have magical powers of insight), and so she calls me “Mr. B.” A proper gentleman’s name, for that’s exactly what I am.
The others scatter when she comes, but I know what her presence brings. The young ones still have much to learn, but I have been around long enough to distinguish friend from foe.
I hold my front paws together and wait in a distinguished manner so she knows it is I. Since we’ve gotten acquainted, I know that oftentimes she can be late when feeding me. I’ve taken to standing outside her door when the glass one is open and only the screen one remains, or I’ll even lay on my stomach outside her bedroom window and wait for her to awaken. She’s very good about feeding me every morning and almost every night. It’s become our wonderful routine.
She even knows that my old paws struggle to shell some of the nuts and seeds she provides (well, that is my excuse, but really I am just lazy). I pick out the easier, more convenient foods to fill my belly faster before the others come. The peanuts are my favorite.
The “others” are a younger pair of brothers who live in the tree just beside her house. I do not enjoy sharing, but I do not believe in violence either so I will not fight them away. I am a squirrel of honor. (They also fight off any other squirrel that dares to come, so the feast is only for the three of us).
They even try to scare me away, but when the kind woman comes they run back into their tree with fear and I am left to once again pick my fill from the newest offerings. She does not scare me.
Maybe it is different with the Furless Giants, but for squirrels, age comes with wisdom. The young ones run from her because she is larger than us, but differences don’t have to be scary. I think she knows this because she is not afraid of me like some of the Giants are. Her kindness means everything to me.
If I could speak, I would tell her, “Thank you, ma’am.”