A Candle to Keanu

So here is the bottle-brush-tailed queer-call-making generously-sized vivid rodent in a rare uncluttered moment, enticed to condescend to the lower branches by a succulent clump of fruit.

Otherwise in his true element he is a tenant of the high canopy, carrying his brush everywhere like a house maid on a cleaning spree, mostly busy foraging for vital essentials, showing to the avid viewer little but his silhouette, looking like the result of a love affair between a palm squirrel and a bandicoot.

Sometimes while walking in the forest you hear his call, which sounds like it was made with a synthesizer on a studio computer to mimic the sound of a hollow tree stump being flogged with a sledgehammer, and struggle to place the maker of the peculiar sound as an exceptionally big frog or an owl, until the astute local brushes the dust off your head and you wake up to this little charmer and realise why, with his cute-as-a-button looks, he is more popular with ladies than Keanu Reeves.

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