Samuel and the Squirrel

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Looking through the kitchen sliding glass door, Samuel and the squirrel eyed each other.  Both waited for the other to blink.

Bored, the squirrel scampered off, snatching a fallen pecan for his cache of winter supplies.

Samuel sighed.  This had turned out to be a disappointing day.  The Daddy was home, and had said, “Hey, Buddy.  Daddy’s gonna do some work on the computer.  You stay put, okay?”

Stay put?  The Daddy had fixed him up with a harness that was secured around his chest, tethered to the kitchen table.

Stay put?  He could wander about six feet, and then The Daddy would say, “Buddy?”

While The Daddy killed Zombies on the computer in the dining room, Samuel gazed jealously at the squirrel that scurried around the backyard. If only, if only.

Samuel pressed his face against the glass door, watching as Ginger-the-fat-tabby soundlessly squeezed through the pet door.  It was too small for Samuel.

This is a soulless existence.  Samuel hung his head.  I cannot endure such inhumanity.  Inspired, Samuel focused his thoughts on the pet door and the squirrel. 

The Daddy’s briefcase lay open on the chair.  Phone, keys, papers—his for the taking.  ‘Buddy this, big guy!’  Samuel decided.

Samuel retrieved the cell phone and shoved it cautiously through the pet door.  The squirrel examined it.   He snatched it up, scampered up the tree, and dropped it into the chasm of winter food.

Success!  Samuel took the keys, clutching them in his moist chubby hand.  No sound.  Squirrel took them, ka-ching.

Papers?  No problem.  Flash Drive?  Easy-peasy.  Again and again, until all gifts were accepted. 

Samuel looked at the nearly empty case. My job here is done.  He lay down on the floor, giving the squirrel a sleepy smile.  Hard work is always rewarded.