Something Squirrelly

We begin, as they say, in medias res:1

“By juxtaposing feminist posthumanist theories and feminist food studies scholarship this article demonstrates how eastern fox squirrels: (1) are subjected to gendered, racialized, and speciesist thinking as a result of their feeding/eating practices, their unique and unfixed spatial arrangements in the greater Los Angeles region, and the western, modernist human frame through which humans interpret these actions (Deckha 2012; Hovorka 2015; Lloro-Bidart 2016) and (2) ontologically defy society’s boundedness as they demand the freedom to eat whatever they choose in the city.”2,3

Even for a squirrel, that’s a mouthful. I should know; I taught at a university where squirrels possibly outnumber students.4 Lots of oak trees, lots of acorns. And where there are nuts, you’ll find squirrels.5 I even lived on the campus for 12 years, so I had plenty of opportunities to view the little creatures at work and at play.6 So naturally I was curious when I stumbled upon another article dealing with squirrels. This was several years ago, and it appeared in The New York Times. The author7 maintained that “Since the 19th century, gray squirrels, an American import, have been overtaking Britain’s native red squirrels and claiming their territory.”8 It just so happens that the squirrels on our campus were gray ones, precisely that variety that has been invading Great Britain for more than 100 years.9

The article caught my attention not because squirrels are my field — far from it; I work with languages (the human kind) — but it caught my eye simply because squirrels were such a common sight on our campus, and because I was somewhat unsettled by the news that members of our campus family had been behaving so badly for so long in a country with which we are, on the whole (that whole independence thing notwithstanding) on pretty decent terms. I’d just never thought of them before as invasive little rascals. And now it turns out that they’re demanding to boot.

I remember trying to befriend the little creatures. After all, I really do find them quite adorable, despite their bad press.10 Their tails are usually aflutter and their lithe little bodies are capable of extraordinarily daring leaps.11 On top of that, they’re curious creatures, and they can really pack away those nuts! But in my experience they’re timid and cautious; they always scampered off before I could establish anything resembling a meaningful relationship. Ultimately, I was left looking at the squirrel’s tail-end.12

Should I reconsider my relationship with squirrels? What I once thought were adorable furry innocent little creatures, all cuddly-looking (even though I never dared to cuddle one) are, it seems, jingoistic imperialists abroad and ontological social justice warriors at home.13,14

The next thing you know, they’ll be hoisting flags, expecting wine with their meals, and pushing for the right to vote.15,16

  1. “A narrative work beginning in medias res (Classical Latin :ɪn mɛdiaːs reːs, lit. “into the middle things”) opens in the midst of action (cf. ab ovo, ab initio). Often, exposition is bypassed and filled in gradually, either through dialogue, flashbacks or description of past events. For example, Hamlet begins after the death of Hamlet’s father. Characters make reference to King Hamlet’s death without the plot’s first establishment of said fact. Since the play focuses on Hamlet and the revenge itself more so than the motivation, Shakespeare utilizes in medias res to bypass superfluous exposition.” Source: Wikipedia (!). ↩
  2. So writes Teresa Lloro-Bidart, in an article titled “When ‘Angelino’ Squirrels Don’t Eat Nuts: A Feminist Posthumanist Politics of Consumption Across Southern California.” (Her article appears in Gender, Place & Culture. A Journal of Feminist Geography, and can be found online at http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0966369X.2017.1314949.) ↩
  3. Who knew? ↩
  4. Let’s not exaggerate and say instead just the undergraduate students. ↩
  5. Or is it the other way around? ↩
  6. I’m not sure that squirrels themselves would make such a distinction, but if in fact they are demanding “the freedom to eat whatever they choose” out in California, then I have to assume that even Houston squirrels, or at least the academically privileged ones on the campus of Rice University, are given to moments of serious, if not to say downright no-nonsense, reflection and action. ↩
  7. Regrettably, I did not take complete notes and no longer have the name of the person who wrote the article. This is, I admit, shoddy scholarship. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. ↩
  8. The New York Times (October 8, 2007) “The Squirrel Wars.” ↩
  9. See footnote three. ↩
  10. Well, at least within academic circles, it seems. ↩
  11. Although I suspect it happens, I have never seen a single one fall and break its pretty little neck. ↩
  12. Their tails, usually described as “bushy,” always looked rather thinned out to me, as if they’d just stepped out of the shower and followed up with a good blow-dry — a look that I now, having less traffic with squirrels, associate more with our current president’s coiffeur. ↩
  13. Again, see footnote three. ↩
  14. That is, in California, where squirrelly behavior seems to come more naturally. ↩
  15. Could this be where the world is headed? On second thought, perhaps it’s just academics being nutty. ↩
  16. Look for this to happen first — where else? — in California. ↩
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