Bill Wilson has so many friends.
And I mean, so many friends.
Even as I started writing this, his Furbo—which is basically his little cat security camera—alerted me that “Bill is spying out the window.”
Spying.
He’s not spying. He’s socializing.
Bill has an entire community outside these windows, and a large portion of that community consists of squirrels.
He has so many squirrel friends. They come right up to the kitchen window to visit him. They sit there eating their acorns in front of him like they’re meeting for breakfast. Some of them have actually started breaking through the screen.
And when I say breaking through, I don’t mean one tiny accidental squirrel claw made a hole.
I mean these squirrels are actively testing the security system.
They are trying to get in.
These are some kamikaze, ninja-squirrel-type motherfuckers.
They have absolutely no fear. They’ll sit there holding an acorn, staring directly into your soul while they eat it, like, Yeah, I’m here. What are you going to do about it?
And Bill LOVES them.
I keep all the blinds open now so he can see outside, and I leave one of the windows open with the screen so he can smell the air and hear everything happening out there. Every morning, I open the window in the middle room—his window—and Bill gets his fresh air and watches the sun come up with his friends.
And then the conversations begin.
He chatters his teeth. He makes these funny little noises. He talks up a storm.
The squirrels come by.
The birds come by.
Everybody checks in.
There is apparently a full neighborhood association happening outside my house, and Bill Wilson is on the board.
The same thing happens at the front door. We have this big glass door, and right outside of it is a Japanese maple. Bill will sit on one side of the glass while a squirrel climbs into the tree on the other side, finds itself a nice spot and casually eats an acorn directly in front of him.
Bill starts chattering away.
And I always tell him, “Now, Bill, you understand that if I opened this door, this relationship might look a little different.”
Because through the glass?
Best friends.
No glass?
I don’t think this friendship survives.
But there is something genuinely beautiful about watching them.
I love watching animals commune with one another. If you’ve never just sat quietly and watched two animals communicate, try it sometime. It’s almost like meditation. There are no words. There are no explanations. Nobody is trying to prove anything.
They just know how to communicate.
And there’s something especially beautiful to me about Bill sitting on one side of that window and a squirrel sitting on the other.
One inside.
One outside.
One who once lived a life on the streets and somehow ended up being brought into a home, where he now has windows and beds and yoga and his own surveillance camera.
And one who is still living on the streets…
although, judging by the condition of my screen, he sure as hell would like to see what indoor living is all about.
I actually bought some of those little bird feeders that suction onto windows a while ago, and now I’m thinking I need to put one up. Maybe the birds will come. Maybe the squirrels will have a snack. Maybe Bill will finally get the neighborhood café he’s clearly been asking for.
I don’t know why the squirrels around here are so comfortable with us. Maybe they feel safer because Bill is here. Maybe they’ve realized he’s behind glass. Maybe they simply own the property and I’ve misunderstood the arrangement this entire time.
Whatever it is, I love watching it.
I love this tiny little world happening right outside my windows.
And as I’m sitting here writing about Bill and all of his friends, he has now walked over to me and given me his little:
“Meow, meow.”
His version of:
Hey. Hey. Enough writing.
I think he wants to go do yoga.
So, here’s to some cat yoga, an open window, and maybe—if we’re lucky—a squirrel showing up on the other side of the glass to do a few moves with us.
Namaste, you little ninja motherfuckers.
