WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE

Kibbles head peeks out of a jacket instead of a nest of leaves.

Squirrels are wild animals. Of course in the case of Kibbles--or any other squirrel who adopts a person-- you have to redefine "wild."

The actions are no different from those of her outside cousins but the context is. Her trees are people, but she races round and round them with the same mindless abandon as an outside squirrel scurrying around a tree trunk. She buries her store bought nuts, but her hiding places are under towels and sweaters rather than in the front yard. She creeps across a floor with the same caution any squirrel would use crossing a street--and if startled, heads in a direction that could have fatal consequences if a car was coming rather than my husband. She sprawls on a chair back rather than a branch and her nest is the hood of a jacket, the box she sleeps in or the crook of an arm. When Kibbles dines, she is every bit as cute as any "wild" squirrel holding a morsel in his teeny hands--except that her treats are squirrel biscuits, blueberries and kale as well as the acorns, dandilions and rose hips her relatives have for dinner. I feel a little greedy since the yard squirrels don't get to raid HER larder.