The birds outside my window speakof world domination, the tiny gray sparrows have staked outmy kitchen for the headquarters of theiraggressive, bird-centric movement. They flyright up to my window so they can lookinside my house, stare into my kitchenchirp angrily to one another about how wasteful I amsweeping stray breadcrumbs into the trashmutter about how things will be different onceI am out of the house.The squirrels in the yard are in it with the birds,but they have smaller demands, a smaller scope of conquest.Today, their view of domination concerns taking overonly a couple of houses, or maybe even a couple of square blocksof old, crumbling, Depression-era residences. They scamper upto my basement window, put tiny brown pawsagainst the glass, stare in at me working, take stockof all the little cubby holes and drawers stuffed with loose paperthat would be better suited for building nestsraising pink, hairless babies, and hiding outagainst the long winter ahead.