The kids were suddenly laughing at breakfast this morning (while I was rushing around in a tizzy because I'd somehow miscalculated the time we had left by a half hour) and squealing, "Mom! The squirrel! The squirrel!"
I'm not sure if you can tell, but that is a very very fat squirrel. I watched it climb in again later and graceful is not the word I would use. But I don't think it cared about that or about how smooshed up it has to get to even reach its mouth down to the seed!
As Mr. P said, after I started muttering about how high we might have to put this bird feeder to get it out of the squirrel's reach, "I don't think you should move it, Mommy," eyes full of feeling for the treat-devouring squirrel (a serial illicit treat-devourer himself, I'm not stunned that Mr. P was so sympathetic), "It looks like he's having a good time in there."