We watched her through the window.
She scurried out her door, stiff but focused, broom in hand, toward a bird feeder set near her flower garden.
We couldn’t hear her but we saw her wave that broom, watched the squirrel dash away into the trees. She beat the broom on the grass a few times, headed back inside.
And minutes later it started all over again; scurry out, threaten the squirrel (from a distance) with the broom, head back in.
I’d forgotten about her vain efforts until today, typing police reports, I came across this one:
Unnamed resident reports 40 to 50 pears stolen from an Asian pear tree over the past month. Anyone with information call police.
And I wonder who this resident is, who counts pears and calls police because they’re missing. And I wonder what has convinced this person that the thief is of the human variety, not animal?
At first the number of stolen fruits sounds high, until I realize it’s one or two a day — easily accomplished by a squirrel.
Borough police won’t be able to help much with a squirrel.
But the pear tree owner, I imagine, has spent hours cultivating that tree and watching the pears swell under the summer sun. I wonder if he or she has seen a passerby pluck one, if the police report is a passive-aggressive communication to keep your hands off my pear tree.
But mostly I wonder about squirrels dancing in branches, frustrating bird feeders and pear growers everywhere.