We left the fruit on the high branches, and some of the lower branches, of the persimmon tree for the birds and squirrels. I don't know if the neighborhood feral cats like persimmons. Molly the (wild) Cat sniffs her nose at the orange fruit. The other morning good fortune struck. I not only watched a crow in the persimmon tree, followed by a bunch of tiny birds, but also a squirrel. That squirrel was chittering so loud, the Husband and I went out to the back yard to find out what all the fuss was about. I wouldn't be surprised if the squirrel was yelling at the tiny birds to get out of its persimmon tree, because that was where the furry guy headed after it ran down the birch tree in the next yard. January was a flurry of decluttering, reorganizing, and sewing curtains, along with getting as much heavy stuff done before my cataract surgery next week. (My gosh, already, next week. Shudder) I was such a worker bee that I became physically, emotionally, and spiritually