As long as I can remember, I’ve always been asking myself: “Why is the weather in Illinois so strange?” Last week, I finally got an answer.

One morning, I found a small jar full of bluish liquid in one of my kitchen’s drawer. By the look of it, I knew that it had been there for ages. A label on the side indicated that this object belonged to some “L. Carroll.” Intrigued, I drank it all by way of a breakfast and carried on with my day.

As I arrived on campus for my class, I felt something strange in my tummy, and I began to shrink in size until I was just about five inches tall. My hands became tiny claws, a fluffy tail grew in my back, and a reddish fur covered my body: I was now a squirrel.

At first, I was afraid, I was petrified. But then I realized that it was a unique opportunity for me to investigate Illinois’ meteorological oddities through new eyes, and it was fine.

Hence, I joyfully proceeded through the Quad, avoiding shoes and tires, making my way out of the human jungle to penetrate the grassy area. I quickly climbed up a tree and went inside the first nest I could find.

Surprisingly, it was very similar to a human’s living room. A squirrel with blood-injected eyes was chilling on a leather couch, watching TV. He introduced himself as Tom, unemployed, living off social aids - about 14 nuts a week. Apparently, the swinging weather didn’t affect his life schedule.

“I usually wake up late, observe people from my tree hole, watch some Nutflix, then I drink a few beers and go to sleep.” He said to me with an Irish accent. “Sometimes, I go out to steal students’ food, but I almost got killed by a dog one time, so now I’m careful.”

He then added: “I have no idea why the weather changes like this, and honestly it couldn’t bother me less – as long as I’ve my nuts.”

After asking me for a cigarette, Tom returned to his couch to take a nap. I went out for some fresh air, and I met Sarah, an English professor who was late for class. For a squirrel, she was quite pretty – she had some white spots on her shoulders and an avant-garde haircut. I asked her opinion about the odd weather:

“I think it’s all because of climate change. See, in my nest, we recycle, we try to eat less meat, more nuts, and I even gambol to school every day, back and forth – it’s in this big Tamarack tree over there.” She said while aiming in the distance. “Although as a squirrel, it is hard to have an impact, I’m doing my best.”

She then started an engaged monologue about some human leaders not believing in climate change - something to do with her Chinese cousins, apparently - the fact that from all the species in the universe, squirrels had to share their planet with dumb humans, and the increasing price of nuts at the local supermarket.

Slightly embarrassed, I apologized and asked for directions. She directed me to a rich neighborhood at the top of a majestic tree, right in the middle of the Quad. I entered a luxurious nest with paintings and wooden sculptures, and in there stood Arthur, quite a sophisticated squirrel.

He wore an eyeglass, a top hat, and his whiskers were like a mustache from the 1920s. When asked about the weather, here’s what he told me:

“Listen, old sport, I’ve been to school, got a master and all that, and I think climate change is a worldwide conspiracy.” I wasn’t even surprised at his English accent. “Even if the water goes up eventually, I made sure that my nest is the farthest above so that I’ll be the last to drawn.”

After a few more questions, Arthur confessed that due to some recent natural disaster, one of his secondary nest on the coast was destroyed: “You should have seen it old sport: in a huge palm tree, patio door with a view on the ocean… Completely gone because of some bloody storm. That’s years of savings gone, some 4,688,522 nuts – yes, I did the math.”

He then offered me lunch – nut gratin and lots of champagne – before I climbed down the tree. Maybe that was the alcohol, but the strange feeling was back in my tummy, and as soon as I touched the ground, I was back to my human size. Students around didn’t even notice me, eyes bound to the screens. I’d just spent a day as a squirrel, and I’d learn so much.