A few days ago, I strolled along a quiet street, among fallen leaves, overgrown hedges and manses, when I came across this scene: A full-fledged pumpkin party. A flotilla of mini-pumpkinis snaking all the way up a stone staircase. A still life in hues of orange and wheat.
And then this: a no-nonsense rodent glaring at me as I was about to pass, his paunch growing in front of my very eyes as he gobbled up one corn niblet after another. The squirrel’s pecking slowed down just long enough to hold my gaze and convey, in utmost seriousness, that nothing was going to get between him and his treasured find. I half-expected him to raise his paw to his face, two claws pointing at his eyes, then turned towards mine – as if to say: I’m watching you, so don’t try any monkey business. And if you don’t mind, would you mind walking on and getting off my turf (before the homeowners return!) so I can finish up my business.