Fat Squirrel was the kingpin of the neighbourhood. He gathered more nuts than any other squirrel, and there were some who questioned his tactics. A few had seen him spying on other squirrels as they buried, in scattershot fashion, their cache for the coming winter. And as soon as the coast was clear, Fat Squirrel (or so they said) would make a beeline to the newly buried nuts, stuff them into his cheeks, and take off to hide them in his own favourite places.
Luckily for him, no squirrel ever remembers where he buried his nuts, so they didn't even realize that Fat Squirrel had made off with their stores.
Fat Squirrel, as you might imagine, was not universally liked. Yes, he was sleek and furry, with a pelt that would have been a lovely addition to a squirrel coat, if they were still making such things. And we must acknowledge that Fat Squirrel was aware of his looks. More than once we find him hunkered beside a puddle admiring his beautiful rat-like face, his opulent tail, and the burnished gloss of his flanks. Oh yes. Fat Squirrel was The Man—or The Squirrel—and he ruled over the poor slobs who were less devious—that is, successful.
Unfortunately, Fat Squirrel's cleverness was not all-encompassing. He lacked street smarts. He stopped one fine morning to admire himself in a gutter puddle. Others saw it coming, but they didn't warn him (why would they?), so Fat Squirrel had no chance to escape the diving hawk that swept from the sky and hauled him off, screaming, to serve as breakfast for her babies waiting in the nest.
Moral: If you insist on being Top Gun, remember that the little guys you cheat aren't going to be watching your back. You're on your own.
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