prompt: “an open letter to…” my answer: “the chipmunk”
how are you? you rare, wee thing. i hear you’re quite common to some, but you’ve only crossed my path twice-or once, if you were the same munk. what’s your life expectancy, anyway, and how far can you run? since you haven’t quite reached the verminous numbers of the squirrel or raccoon, and you seem to travel solo like ronin, i’m going to go on the assumption that yes, it WAS you that i saw twice. once in upstate new york, and the other on a rock just between mcgill and the mountain in montreal. both times, you took my breath away-with your magnificent little tail and that distinguished stripe. i gasped and did a double take to confirm that yes-it was teeny you. i didn’t try to get very close, and you probably wouldn’t have let me, anyway. what do you eat? how do you feel about the cartoon depictions of you? do you really speak in mini-helium squeaks? or is that a lie like christmas songs and alphabet sweaters and male strippers? what would the world be if archduke francis ferdinand had sent you to us instead of the invading black squirrel that’s really a tree rat who, quite frankly is looking a bit mangy these days? what are your ideal conditions? a lady once told me that she once came home to you snuggling in her duvet in the middle of her bed, terrified of her cat that must have chased you in there, and i was very, very jealous of that. i still am. hint hint.