my insides quivered as i pictured some horrid woman with large hair and pointy heeled shoes stepping on that poor squirrel and yanking out his tail as he tried to dodge her feet.
i imagine a squirrel’s tail is his pride. it is his cherished fluff he shows off and trails behind him everywhere he goes. it even keeps his balance as he scrambles from tree to tree in the park.
so without his tail what will he do? his pride lays trampled, the bloody end crushed into the sidewalk cement in herald square.
poor kid.
–poor kid, you say to me.
shh. can’t you please keep all your clothes on and just let me sweat this out?
darlin, i will stay good for you.
i will be chivalry at her finest.
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