The aroma of fish soup had just begun to waft through the air when Owen Sutton returned to the bedroom carrying a plate of fruit. He turned on the TV and switched to the Newfoundland Classics channel. The morning theater was playing a movie—he glanced at it and realized it was one of his favorite American dramas from college, "Youth Party."

While watching the movie and eating salad, Owen Sutton was thoroughly enjoying himself when suddenly the bedroom window glass began to go 'bang bang bang.'

He turned his head and was surprised to see a little squirrel standing curiously outside the window, gently bumping the glass with its tiny head.

This squirrel was still young, only as tall as his middle finger. Its eyes were jet-black and shiny, its whole body covered in short, reddish-brown fur. At that moment, its hind legs were half-squatting, front paws pressed against the glass, almost plastered to it as it peered inside. Its bushy, reddish-brown tail swished back and forth, as if a pompom was tied to its rear.

Owen Sutton walked over, and the little squirrel darted onto a branch of the maple tree beside the window, then nimbly flicked its tail and slipped into a small tree hole, poking its little head out to watch alertly.

Seeing this, Owen Sutton laughed. So this was his neighbor—the little squirrel must have made its home in this maple tree. And, unsurprisingly, it was probably the same little fellow his Poseidon consciousness had encountered in the reservoir last night.

He opened the window, then returned to bed with the fruit plate to watch the movie. Before long, a furry big tail swept over his head. Turning again, he saw the little squirrel squatting at the head of his bed, holding its paws and looking up at him curiously.

Chapter 0007: Van Gogh is Fake, Picasso is Real

Owen Sutton looked down at the little squirrel in puzzlement, while it tilted its head up, gazing at him with curiosity. Big eyes met small eyes.

The little squirrel was only a few months old. There were rarely any people at the Great Qin Fishery, so it probably hadn’t seen humans before and didn’t know to be afraid. It even brushed Owen Sutton’s hand with its big tail.

The soft, fluffy tail brushing his hand felt oddly pleasant. Owen Sutton smiled, picked up a blueberry coated in syrup, and slowly offered it to the little squirrel.

The little squirrel tilted its head, eyeing the blue fruit. It reached out its tiny paw to take it, studied it for a moment, then hugged the blueberry with both paws and brought it to its mouth. With a 'crunch,' it bit off half, its cheeks puffing up, and its little mouth began to chew noisily.

The blueberries Owen Sutton bought tasted great—sweet and tart, tender and juicy. After one bite, the little squirrel was delighted and, without hesitation, stuffed the rest into its mouth, munching away at lightning speed.

Munching on the blueberry, the little squirrel plopped itself down in front of Owen Sutton’s pillow, imitating him by leaning back against it, squinting its eyes in apparent contentment.

Owen Sutton laughed. This little squirrel reminded him of a golden-backed hamster he’d kept as a child—just as adorable.

After finishing the blueberry, the little squirrel looked up at him again. Owen Sutton picked up a North American black grape and offered it, but the clever squirrel pushed the grape aside with its paw, its dark little eyes fixed longingly on the blueberries in the fruit plate.

“This one tastes even better,” Owen Sutton said with a smile, taking a bite of the grape himself and deliberately chewing loudly.

The little squirrel stared at him blankly. Owen Sutton dipped the remaining grape in syrup and handed it over. This time, the squirrel hesitated, then reached out to take it, nibbling gently. Finding it tasty, it started munching away again.

Owen Sutton rubbed the little squirrel’s head with his fingertip. The squirrel didn’t mind, just lowered its head and gnawed at the grape—a real feast for such a tiny creature.

After finishing the grape, the little squirrel grew bolder and climbed up onto Owen Sutton’s shoulder via the pillow. It tiptoed around for a bit, found a comfortable spot, then sprawled out, staring at the fruit plate.

Afraid it might overeat, Owen Sutton put the fruit plate aside and continued watching the movie. But the little squirrel started kneading his shoulder with its front paws, staring at the fruit plate and sticking out its pink tongue.

Seeing it wasn’t full, Owen Sutton gave it another blueberry. This time, the little squirrel didn’t eat it right away but instead stared intently at Owen Sutton’s profile.

Owen Sutton was engrossed in the movie. The little squirrel took a couple of bites of the blueberry, then, holding the rest, began watching TV too, its eyes wide and unblinking.

Every time Owen Sutton laughed at the antics of the four goofy leads, the little squirrel would pace on his shoulder with its tiny legs. Whenever Owen Sutton turned his head, it would quiet down, staring wide-eyed back at him.

Big eyes met small eyes—one man, one squirrel.

When the movie ended, Owen Sutton was left wanting more. The little squirrel seemed to feel the same, rubbing its front paws together and chirping twice.

Owen Sutton carefully cupped the little squirrel in his hands. It wasn’t afraid at all, just kept scratching its ears and cheeks in his palm.

“Let’s give you a name,” Owen Sutton said, a mischievous glint in his eye as he looked at the squirrel’s reddish-brown fur. “How about calling you Little Grace?”

The little squirrel didn’t understand, just spun around in circles, which made it look like it was shaking its head and wagging its tail, as if disagreeing with the name.

Owen Sutton thought for a moment and muttered to himself, “Alright, let me check if you’re a boy or a girl. If you’re a girl, then you have to be called Little Grace.”