From this angle, you look like a giant acorn

The squirrels in Chapultepec Park are small and agile, their pale grey coats flecked with velvety splotches of auburn. In the world's largest city they're also some of the most accessible wildlife around, of considerable interest to visiting children. It's not uncommon to see a family staring up into the tree branches, entranced by the sight of a squirrel flicking its tail, or trying to coax a squirrel into taking food from the hand. No slouches, the squirrels recognize a good thing when they see it and are thoroughly acculturated to the humans in their midst. So when I halted in my run yesterday, it wasn't surprising that a nearby squirrel would come over to investigate. It was unexpected, however, when the squirrel decided to jump onto my leg, remaining put for several seconds before allowing itself to be shaken off. It then retreated back a few yards, with a slight air of wounded dignity. If you didn't want me to climb on you, it seemed to rebuke me, why did you stand still and look at me for several seconds? And you know, fair enough - there was an implicit offer there which was, from the squirrel's perspective, precipitously withdrawn.