Nutty matters

The squirrel sat on the roof of the shed and looked at me, almost daring me to blink. Half asleep, I stared back before shaking myself out of my reverie. I moved to take out some bread. When I looked out the window again, the squirrel had moved. In the seconds I hadn't been looking, he - because it's almost always a he, in my mind - had darted from the shed to the brick fence that separated the two large gardens behind my building. In summer, he'd be camouflaged there but now, in the Autumn, he was still visible. He twitched his tail at me.

I weighed up opening the window and throwing out some of the nuts that we keep on the bench for Charlie and Lottie, our squirrel neighbours, but decided it would take too much time. Instead, I put my bread in the toaster and began to ready my other breakfast things. Yoghurt, juice, Vegemite.

The toast seemed to take forever. I moved back to the window, but the squirrel - Charlie, Lottie, or just a random visitor - had vanished. The toast popped and I sighed as I noticed that, yet again, the toaster had spat it out too soon. Instead of the crisp golden brown, it was white and patchy. That's what you get when you buy the £10 kettle-and-toaster combo, I guess.

The flat was quiet as I sat down at the kitchen table to eat my toast, book in hand. A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. The squirrel was back, playing hide and seek with me, apparently. Either that or statues. As I turned back to my book, I heard childish voices in my head; "What's the time Mr Wolf?" Breakfast time, I answered them, chomping down on a soggy piece of toast and getting absorbed in my book. Twenty minutes later I looked up at the clock in a panic. I was late. Again.

I downed the last of my juice, rinsed my dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Standing over the sink, I noticed that the squirrel was back on the roof of the shed, almost at my eye level. He seemed to be laughing at my sudden haste. I made a snap decision. I was already late, so why not?

I wrenched the window open - it's a stretch to make it across the bench and still have enough leverage to manage the large, heavy sash; a stretch too far for the shorter Flatmate C. Opening the bag of nuts, I threw a few out one by one, watching them land in the leaf litter of the courtyard below. The squirrel looked at me and if he'd had eyebrows, he would have cocked one. Clearly, he was not to be bought off with nuts. I shrugged a shoulder and slammed the window closed again before dashing downstairs and into the bathroom for a lightning quick shower.

Later in the morning, I sat at my desk in the misery of a sore throat and ear ache. "Toughen up," came the email from Flatmate L. "It's all a question of mind over matter." Maybe she's right. Then again, maybe she's not. I wonder if the squirrel has eaten the nuts yet. It's tempting to head home and check, but instead I stay at my desk and throw back a couple of paracetamols. The throat and ear improve, but I'm still curious about the squirrel.