POV

I thought of you fondly as I passed that dead squirrel splayed on the side of the road, up by Wilma French's. Knowing you share my deep-seated aversion to the little bastards (especially after they invaded my attic), but then I've always run their chattering little asses out of the yard, even before the home invasion. I considered just that sort of bond between us, hard to explain to someone else, someone perhaps soft hearted, or we would say soft-headed. The ineffable commonality of thought arising from our mutual perspective, a point of view some might term 'crotchety,' the charm of which does not elude me. There's poetry in the world view of grumpy old men and sharp-tongued crones, a symmetry achieved across decades of experience with rodents masqueraded as cartoon characters, and the realities of survival in the wide world.