squirrel tiny’s food coma, part 1
an original fic. involves tinies, unrealistic belly expansion, and stuffing.
the snow crunches under your feet as you cross the front yard, passing through the dangling leaves of two tightly curled rhododendrons on your way to refill the birdfeeder nailed to a leafless tree at its very center. a quarter-empty twenty pound bag of songbird mix sags in your grasp as you walk; you try not to think about what a slippery mess it’s going to make in the garage when you bring it in after setting it down in the snow while you open up the feeder.
it’s set up like a birdhouse-shaped grain silo, with three wooden walls and a removable see-through acrylic plate making up the fourth. the plate, which doesn’t fully touch the ‘floor’ of the box-like structure (thereby allowing gravity to send seeds down as the bird tinies and their fully avian counterparts deplete what’s flowed down into its hand-sized tray), is at the front of the structure as to give an indication of how long until you need to refill the seeds. there should probably be a good five or six inches left, but given that the weather’s been in the teens lately, you don’t feel like taking any chances - especially seeing as it’s very likely that that obnoxious little squirrel tiny that keeps scaring away the bird tinies somehow finally found a way to knock it over. he’s certainly been trying hard enough.
your brows lower in confusion as you draw nearer. there appears to be something filling up almost the entirety of the feeder, but you can’t make out what it is from this distance. discolored snow, maybe? you don’t see the miniature gabled roof that’s supposed to go on top of the feeder anywhere, so it could’ve filled up overnight. your eyes automatically flit down to the snow around the base of the tree the feeder’s attached to, and sure enough, the lid is upturned in a V shape on the ground, surrounded by a few scattered sunflower seed hulls and dusted with a light covering of snow.
well, that means that whatever’s inside of the feeder can’t be snow, because the discarded roof would have to be covered in a comparable amount for that to make any sense. what you do know for sure is that the removal of the lid and subsequent ruination of the now-wet birdseed definitely looks like the work of a squirrel tiny. of that squirrel tiny.
you tighten your grasp on the straining neck of the quarter-empty bag of seed and quicken your strides through the snow, determined to sort this out right here and now. that lid was allegedly tiny-proof and squirrel-proof, so how he managed to do this, you don’t know, but you’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen again. that had to have been a full pint of seed he ruined!
...or not, you realize as the mass in the feeder comes into view. definitely not, considering that there isn’t any seed to ruin at all now.
the squirrel tiny, who has somehow managed to climb inside of the feeder, seems to have eaten all of it.
