As if Mr. W didn't already think my behavior was peculiar enough, soon he will be finished with his film project and home with me every day where he will witness the new quirks I've acquired as a result of working from home.
It's funny because, although I miss my old coworkers dearly and genuinely liked spending my work week with them, there were lots of days I didn't want any of them to speak to me. Yet, now I find myself interacting with just about every other living creature that comes into my line of vision. I regularly greet Huckle, one of many neighborhood cats who frequents our backyard.
I chirp at and talk to this little guy who stops by the compost bin outside our dining room window to feast on gnats. He could actually be 2 or 3 different hummingbirds, but I call them all George. And they like it.
Isn't he the cutest—all puffed up and happy on his tiny branch? I will love him and cuddle him and call him George. Oh yes, I will.
Then there's the pesky but endearing squirrel (or seven) who runs along our fence every day. Sometimes he sits in the tree outside the sliding glass door and makes such a squawky racket I have to walk outside and ask him to keep it down. Other times, he sits on the gate outside the window where I'm working and yells at me until I pay attention to him. So I wave. Ask him to be quiet.
I haven't given him a name yet. My dad likes to shoot squirrels who come into his bird feeder with a super-soaker squirt gun. He may have conditioned me to not love them as much as my other backyard pets.
Mr. W regularly hears me sing songs to our cats (like if you change the lyrics to Lady Marmalade to "Gitchi gitchi meow meow dada, gitchi gitchi meow meow here, Mocha chocalata meow meow, Creole Kitty Maramalade"). And he's come to terms with that.
But I don't know how he'll respond to the way I run the boardroom.
Perhaps if I encourage him to wear his leopardskin loincloth around the house, he'll get in touch with the animal side of things a little more quickly...