To be, or not to be.

To be or not to be a squirell, that is the question.
Whether tis nobler in the mind to cross the street, or to suffer the potential pain of car-to-body encounter. And by escaping, living to cross again.
To eat, to store, no more. And by storing to say we end the hunger pangs during winter. Tis a consumtion devoutly to be wished.
To eat, to store, to store perchance to live. Ay, there's the rub.
For in that life of wonders what cars may come. When we have shuffled down the oak tree, we will cross roads again.