I am on the balcony, staring at the carnage that is all of the greenery pulled up and taken away out front. Apparently, the new landscaping has begun.
My hapless building manager is cruising down the pathway.
I look at the carnage.
He looks at the carnage.
I gesture helplessly.
He says, I know.
I say, But where will my squirrel play?
It says something about either me, or my building manager, that he does not even double take when I say “my squirrel,” and just takes it as a matter of course I have taken possession of one of the wild squirrels and dubbed it “my squirrel.”
He says, Your squirrel CAN play in the tree for three weeks.
