9780008390662

nutwit
Nutwit, the gray squirrel who lives in the live oak in our front lawn, jumps to
a lower branch, looking at me with barely concealed pity.
I hate pity. Especially the barely concealed kind.
“I don’t know why you taunt her,” he says. “You’re hardly in a position to
talk, Bob. You are Snickers.”
“Come over here to the window and say that.”
“So you can, what, drool me to death?”
“Are you aware that my best friend is a gorilla?” I ask. “You would make
fantastic ape chow, dude.”
Nutwit reaches for a dangling acorn and yanks it free. “I thought gorillas
were vegetarians.”
“Ivan eats termites,” I say. “He might make an exception for you.”
“Face it, Bob. You’re soft. You’re one step away from your own pink rain
boots.”
“He has a point,” says Minnie, one of the family’s guinea pigs, from her cage
next to the TV.
“No, he doesn’t,” says Moo, her cagemate.
“Yes, he does,” Minnie squeaks.
“Doesn’t.”