The feed box opens.
The squirrel chitters madly.
"Excuse me?" my husband says.
Then there's a few chuckles (I guess the upstairs antics have gone visual only for the time being) and then I hear,
"Is everything to your satisfaction?"
"It's okay, you can come back now..."
The door opens, closes. There's a thud. Squirrel chitters in a satsified manner.
I just wish that *I* could communicate with the little imp - perhaps I should try telling him once again that digging in the planters is frowned on...
But then, MY indian name in squirrel terms is She Who Yells Nonsense And Is Easy To Ignore.