Cream of whisker souffle

Happy Earth Day!

The Slinky got totally upstaged today. Even after Michelle suddenly noticed it this afternoon and stopped speechless mid-sentence, her jaw slowly hitting the floor as it entered in what that was out there and what it must be for.

So how do I one-up that moment?

Looking in the fridge for a glass of milk, I see: the whip-cream whipper, not yet empty.   Hey.  It has fat. It has protein. It has what I’ve read that momma squirrels need this time of year (and after the hijinks going on out there, I guarantee you there are momma squirrels this year and which individuals they are likely to be.  Look for the one with the white spot in the center of its back where it got nipped in the action.)

So I took a paper cup. I cut it way down to about two inches tall. I squirted some fresh whipped cream in (don’t forget there’s that little bit of sugar mixed in there, too, just a touch), and of course the gadget sprayed way more than I intended, they always do–quite the sundae there.  Add a little sunflower garnish on top.  Voila.  Then I put it out on the patio.

The black squirrel came to it pretty quickly; she danced around it, a hilarious combination of severe lust and fear of the unknown.  Come close, dash, close, sniff, dash.  This strange set-up sure wasn’t going to take a day of acclimatizing.  Forward and away, forward and away.

A dove took a quick peck at it.  Well, then.  Not going to let some dumb bird show her up.

The next thing I knew, that squirrel was sampling, oh, just the seeds, not that weird white stuff.  Don’t you pay attention to me. (As the camera comes out…) Then holding the cup still with her paws while eating away at the top of the white swizzle. Then suddenly throwing caution to the wind, grabbing the whole thing and running for the grass, where she wrestled it to give up every last drop of cream.  I started to step outside at one point, worried that somehow I’d done damage because it was on her head and she was falling over to the side–but she grabbed it back up from the ground and stuck it back on her head and did it again and again, pulling it down over her ears, trying to reach every smidgen in the bottom seam of that cup. I glanced upwards for the Cooper’s hawk, just in case, but the coast was clear. She fell sideways in ecstasy again.

I tell you, that little animal with its white-fringed whiskers twitching in delight was the funniest thing ever. Then she stashed the magical cup near a tree, hoping it might sprout more later.  Maybe start a whole forest of whipped cream.

Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.

(Edited to add: about three hours later, she came back on that patio, plunked herself down facing me through the window, and just stared, willing me to turn around and look. I had this feeling of being watched and glanced out the window.

May I have more nirvana? Pretty please with whipped cream on top?  I laughed and turned away. She picked herself up, moved a foot or two closer, laid back down again facing me–no time for shyness, this was serious business here–and resumed staring.  BRING. ME. MORE.

When that didn’t work, she stomped off.)