Rats in Fluffy Suits

I can't like squirrels.

I try but I can't.

It's just not in me.

They meet with my disapproval

In everything they do.

I dislike their hijacking ways,

Their appropriation and presumption -

"Those are my nuts" -

As they gnaw and wrench and mutilate

The feeder.

Grasping little thieves.

I've espied one particularly bold one:

A leader amongst nut poachers.

The pigeon patrols when he's not around.

Useless pigeon.

The little birds flee

When his circus act arrives.

They don't want to see his acrobatics!

He's disrupting their lunch!

"Here he comes again with his fancy moves.

We can fly from tree to tree too, you know!"

Resentful of his incisors,

Digging and distorting.

Even the magpies leave him alone.

He dangles to harvest,

With his freakish little hands

And his tear-at-anything teeth.

I hate your fluffy jowls.

Your twitching tail enrages me

With its spasmodic jerks:

Your self-satisfaction as you nibble,

Sat back, relaxed -

A grey peril.

I like to watch you leap in fright

As I open the door.

Sometimes, I clap but

No appreciative applause here for your rodential athletics.

Part of me wants resignation,

To accept your hunger and need:

"Squirrels need food too!",

Imagining you with a mini placard

Or a t-shirt of protest and declaration.

But resentment of you

Runs rife.

I can't help but wonder if

You are rats in fur fashion.

I think if you were ravaged

I would feel differently.

I would gaze sympathetically

As you grip the cage

And revel in my benevolence

Towards you.

But

Your health and sartorial appearance

Make me feel you are not

In need - but greed.

Your audacity and rapaciousness

Make me want you gone.

I'm a nature lover

Which is why I don't shoot you

With a Nerf gun;

Although I toy with it.

That would make your tail twitch -

And makes my face do the same

At the prospect.

***

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