They're so fat that I'm not sure I can call them "cute." They fluff this time of year, keeping every btu they can muster thick inside that blanket they wear. Even though they stay barefooted all through the winter, they never seem to complain.
To us, they aren't a plague or a curse; they aren't the enemy they are to bird watchers who try, often vainly, to keep them the heck away their precious feeders. And they're acrobats--that's for sure. They pull stunts no human being would think of.
Nonetheless, their bulk makes the squirrels outside our windows seem more like circus clowns than those buff high-wire acts. Fat as little pigs, they fear nothing and will climb aboard the thinnest branch if they have a notion to satisfy their ravenous appetites for the wilted crabs left on our trees.
Sometimes they'll be out there for an hour, pigging out. They high-wire and dive and hang upside down, risking life and limb, it seems, to gorge themselves. They're ferocious little furry fat guys whose sheer grace is downright shocking.
This morning I'm thankful for the winter carnival they put on just about every afternoon outside our window.