Because I like to give human characteristics to animals, insects, even cars, I was trying to imagine what the squirrel — or maybe it was a chipmunk, I can never remember the difference — sitting on the railing of my deck was thinking.
Was it gazing over my yard like a ruler admiring its kingdom? Was it trying to remain safe on the high ground, surveying the scene for hazards like dogs and cars or competitors like rabbits?
Was it waiting for its friends to show up? Was it early? Were they late?
Or was it … doing whatever they do, whatever that is?
Whatever it was doing, it looked pretty chill.
On the topic of what human thoughts non-humans might have, there’s a question I’ve been thinking a lot about lately.
Do ants … know?
They’re basically at the bottom of the food chain, vulnerable to pretty much anything. Unless they never come out, only thing keeping them safe is no one finding them.
But when they are discovered congregating around a bottle of mouthwash (yup, really happened), exposed by the movement of a toaster oven, found in a bowl of sugar or spotted around the toilet bowl, do they know time is up?
Do they understand that their about to get sprayed, smashed, dumped in the garbage or sent to a watery, swirly grave? (And since I know you want to ask, I do, because sometimes you can’t help but be 6, and not just because you see a water slide.)
Do the other ants miss them?