Cyril the squirrel finds himself in a bit of a bind:
There we were, walking down a deserted country road, and there he was precariously placed and looking mighty confused.
“Blimey I was only trying to avoid those noisy cicadas for an hour or two, and look what darn well happened to me…”
They don’t do traditional washing lines here, so he must’ve thought the electrical kind would make a good substitute. Thing is, they could potentially pack a punch, (no wonder his tail was flapping about).
Bless,, he should’ve tried out our area for a runabout. All utility supplies are underground, not an electricity pole to be seen. So he would’ve been much more safe and comfortable perched up a palm tree. No nuts though, they don’t do them sort here either.
Oh, and he’d still be able to hear whatever tune the cicada’s are playing – no “cicada siesta” for him.To us it’s a wonderful gentle hum in the background, but then again we don’t have to potter patter carefully through them…