This is a parable of something or another.
My mother had a pet squirrel, Friskie.
She had gotten her when she fell out of a nest in the yard.
Friskie loved my mother.
She loved no one else.
She would come over to my mother and let her pick her up and cuddle her and make little squirrel noises.
Friskie was not that way with any others.
She would often charge across a room to attack anyone else.
She would claw her way up your clothes, or up your bare leg, giving you bites as she saw fit, to express her disapprobation.
My mother had a hard time understanding how no one else liked Friskie, and thought that she was the sweetest thing on earth.
You can laugh, and think how could someone object to being nipped by a tiny squirrel.
You have not been blessed with this joy, or you would know the truth.
A squirrel is about the size of a large rat, and has similar teeth.
Think of a large rat attacking you in your own home, clawing up your clothes, and then biting you, as hard as it can bite, on your shoulder!
Friskie did not do that with my mother. Unfortunately, my mother was not always operating with a full deck.
Of course, mother had grown up in rural Mississippi, and had lived that rural life when she was young.
I once asked her which was better eating, squirrel or rabbit, and she without hesitation offered this: "Squirrel is a lot better than rabbit!"
Judging from the few times I had squirrel as a kid, and decades later, rabbit, I can say that she was perfectly correct.
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