The Squirrel is one month short of four years old, my youngest nephew. He came to live with me two months ago, and has distinctly changed the whole household ever since.
The first morning he climbed on my bed and snuggled against me and we watched TV together.
The next morning while I was still in bed he opened my door, stood my guitar upright on the floor, haphazardly struck its strings and sang loudly in gibberish. The dreadful cacophony jerked me wide awake from my cozy slumber. I was mad then I burst out laughing.
He is a strong-willed kid, spoiled by his dad, and can be very agressive when things don't go his way. When that happens I am not sure if I like him very much.
Still, while he's sitting beside me playing a game on my computer or watching Coyote chasing Roadrunner on my TV, I feel a tender warmth for him and a mild regret for what has been missing from my life: a child of my own.