He hangs out in the trees outside of the second floor newsroom window, and for this reason we have tagged him with the name Cronky. This is in honor of The Sacred Walter Cronkite.
I face away from that window at my desk, but in the hallway window over my monitor I see his reflection all the time. He leaps bravely from thin branch to thin branch, gorging on the little red berries that have usually dropped to the ground by now, fermenting in the cool autumn sun.
Cronky is always watching. I must not waste time under his cruel gaze. His stare is as cold as the wind.
It has driven me to begin the work in earnest on the next project, Project Brainfeed, which is being brewed up at this time by the appropriate parties.
But not today. It's Thanksgiving, and even Cronky is probably taking a day off, tallying the list of things for which he's appreciative. Among them, no doubt, the proliferation of little red berries in their late season, and his mastery of gravity.