I am pleased to report that the Kaprowy/Baker household will soon welcome a little baby puppy. By soon, I mean probably not until March or April — even our breeder dog is suffering from infertility so our plan of having our little guy at home by November fell through. But this way, you’ll have plenty of time to brace yourselves for the oncoming onslaught of puppy anecdotes. Consider this my warning.

In the meantime, another animal seems to have adopted our home. Or, more specifically, the screen on the window beside my nightstand. Nearly every afternoon, a squirrel climbs up and hangs out there for half hours at a time.

I first noticed him a few months ago when there was a strange noise coming from that area. It was windy out, and I thought the branch of a tree might be knocking against the house. But low and behold, there he was spread-eagled against the window pane, all his paws so far apart from each other he looked like a pegged tent.

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About a month ago, I opened my inbox and there was an email entitled “Your Work” inside it. It was a week after I’d had a short story published in a literary magazine, which was a big deal for me since it was the first piece of fiction someone had liked enough to want to print. (I’ve had 33 rejections.)

I thought the email was from someone who had maybe read the story. Or I thought it might be spam. Or I thought it might have something to do with this column.

Instead, it was from a book agent telling me he had read my story and was interested in representing me. He wanted to know if I had written a novel, and, if so, could I send him part of it so he could decide if he liked it enough to try to sell it to publishing houses for me.

You know when something happens to you that seems so unreal it feels like you’re floating? Like life has been put on pause for a minute that feels like 10, and you might be dreaming and you might not be. You might be breathing but you might not be. Hell, you might be dead but are unaware of it.

That’s how I felt in that moment.

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