This is Mr. Squirrelly. His mate, Mrs. Squirrelly, has been run over by a car.
Read their story and hear what Mr. Squirrelly has to say:

I am going to tell a story of two of my treasured friends Mr. & Mrs. Squirrelly. My animals and I reside next to a large park in a small ranch house under one magnificent valley oak. About six years ago, a squirrel named Mr. Squirrelly began to frequent the bird feeder attached to the valley oak. If the bird feeder runs empty and he sights me within the house, he chatters angrily at me to refill it. One day, about a year ago, I asked Mr. Squirrelly, “How come you are always alone? Don’t you have any friends?” He replied, “Oh yes, I have a wife. But she lives across the street and is too frightened to cross the power lines or the road.” I proceeded to tell him that he will always be safe on our property and he is welcome to bring her anytime.
The very next day, I pull into my driveway after work to be met by my cat Makia. “Oh, mom. You wont believe it. Mr. Squirrelly has been here all day with his wife.” Sure enough two squirrels scurried up to the low notch in the tree. Mr. Squirrelly gleefully chattered while Mrs. Squirrelly peered at me shyly hiding behind her friend. On this same day, Mr. Squirrelly talked at eye level with me. I said, “Thank you Mr. Squirrelly for bringing your friend.” He replied, “She is very happy to be here. It is nice to have her share this with me. I was getting tired of storing food for her in my mouth.”
For some reason, I doubted with whom I was talking to. I couldn’t find Mr. Squirrelly’s scar on his right hip. I questioned him, “Mr. Squirrelly is that you? Or am I talking to Mrs. Squirrelly?” “It’s me!” He said and then turned around so that he was facing up the tree, he spread his legs, and then he shook his maleness! Very clear, it was Mr. Squirrelly!
In the last year, I have seen three of their litters feed from the bird feeder and drink from the birdbath. I have watched them all scurry in joyful circles around the tree. On hot days they have spread themselves out in exhaustion at the foot the tree or on the notch. They have become an adored part of my animal family.
The last few weeks, I have been terrible about refilling the bird feeder. Mr. & Mrs. Squirrelly were getting tired of the seed and my workdays have been too long to make it to the feed store. There is no excuse. I have failed them. A few days ago, I arrived home from work to find a squirrel dead in the middle of the road just passed my house. My heart sank and tears filled my eyes. At this moment, it seemed the cars were speeding by way too fast for a park road. I reached the body. It was Mrs. Squirrelly! I could tell by her nipples. I would have scooped her up in my arms but she was squished and her intestines were out. I felt Mr. Squirrelly intensely watching me, but when I scanned the environment I could not find him. I ran into the house. I normally would have taken a towel, but this was a job for a shovel. I carried Mrs. Squirrelly mournfully across the park. The morning doves, woodpeckers and scrub jays were all silently staring at me. I placed Mrs. Squirrelly under a flowering bush at the edge of the park where I knew it would be safe for Mr. Squirrelly to visit. He was still tracking me. I felt his eyes following me the whole time.
Back at the oak tree, I called for Mr. Squirrelly but he did not come. The birdbath got fresh water and the feeder fresh seeds and nuts. Days went by and there was no sign of him. I felt him spying on me from an oak tree down and across the street. It must be where their nest resides. I knew he was angry with me. If I had been feeding them she would have only been on the power-lines. Her worst fear has come true and I played too big of apart in it. Then I noticed some nuts where gone, but oddly enough the sunflower seeds were not knocked on the ground. It was unusual for Mr. Squirrelly to be so neat. My cats told me Mr. Squirrelly was mad at me and he didn’t want to see me. They said, he hears my car coming and leaves. I dreamt of Mrs. Squirrelly. She told me of Mr. Squirrelly’s favorite nuts, walnuts in the shell. I dream of Mr. Squirrelly mournfully curled up in my hands. My heart breaks for him. Yesterday, he was on the ground eating sunflower seeds. He looked at me, but wouldn’t talk. When I tried to converse with him he climbed up the tree, out on a limb, and walked the power-lines to the sycamore across the street. Later in the day, he was around again. I told him, “I sorry Mr. Squirrelly. I am so sorry I wasn’t filling the bird feeder. I know you miss her. You can talk to her you know.”
He stared at me. Then replied, “I think I see her, but I think it is just my imagination.” I told him to believe it is her. He then slowly climbed up the tree, peered at me from a high branch and left.
This morning I ask him he has anything to say to my readers. He says, “I want you to tell them to drive slower. Sometimes I see children about to be hit. I want you to tell them that she knew exactly how to groom my ears and I cannot do it myself. I want them to know that squirrels have friends for life and they should not shoot guns at us, because the pellets stay in us forever and always hurt. Tell them that I miss her and I don’t care if the sun comes up anymore. Laura, I am not mad at you anymore. I am just really sad.”