Waiting: wishing: hoping

There he (or she) is, all fluffed up against the cold wind, clinging to the old ash tree and looking through the kitchen window at me as I stand looking out with tea in hand. The face is a study in mischievous curiosity, forbearance, and the fond hope that someone will flounder outside and replenish the feeders in the garden, one of which is just for squirrels. 

One after another, village squirrels line up on the veranda railing in winter like a procession of little grey Buddhas.  They await their turn at the breakfast buffet, their faces full of longing, tiny paws are tucked into their belly fur for warmth.

Spencer, on the other hand, shows no enthusiasm for going anywhere in this kind of damp cold.  He is curled up on the sofa in the den with a morose expression, gazing out at the gray world beyond the windows and grumbling expressively.