CRASH. SCRAPE. CLONK.
Last week, we awoke startled in the middle of the night,
hearts racing.
“I told you it sounded crazy” was the first thing out of Katie’s
mouth. She was referring to a story she’d told me the day before about hearing
some kind of animal in our walls. She was right. It did sound crazy. But I
wasn’t so sure it was an animal.
“I think someone’s on the front porch taking our Christmas
tree,” I responded, proud of my logical assessment. That evening, we’d re-boxed our holiday décor and put the
tree (still in its stand) outside on the front porch. Now, it seemed that some
transient or other ne’er-do-well was helping themselves to our Aspen fir. Now,
during the bright light of day, I realize what a ridiculous thought that is. I
mean, who in their right (or wrong) mind thinks, “Would you look at that dried
up tree? I could sell that on Ebay…or trade it for crack!” No. That’s just not
going to happen. Bored suburban kids still on their Christmas break, however,
are a different story, and that’s what I suspected. Me and my buddies did all
kinds of mindless, slightly idiotic things to pass the time back in the day—we
stacked trashcans to knock them down with cars, stole road signs, snuck around
abandoned buildings at night, listened to Whitesnake, ate tacos after
midnight—all kinds of semi-retarded behavior. So I assumed that’s what was
happening on our porch.
I jumped from my bed to see what was the matter. I thought I
was moving pretty quickly yet Katie was already peering through the blinds in
the living room when I got there. I swear this woman can teleport herself through
time and space, she moves so quickly. She says it’s because I move so slowly,
but I don’t. Compared to her, though, I move like molasses in February. At the
North Pole. In a freezer. It’s like watching Jack Black race Reggie Bush and
Jack Black is wearing 50 lb ankle weights and Reggie Bush is in a Ferrari. Are
you getting the picture? I can’t keep up.
So we look outside, and there stands our majestic, barren
tree, glistening in the mid-night frost. Then it happens again, above our
heads. SCRREECH. Clonkity-Bonk. RUSTLE-SCURRY. Squirrels. I know that sound.
Anytime it gets a little cold here in the south, you can count on those rodents
finding their way into attics all over the neighborhood. But it sounded like
they were doing more than simply hiding nuts in our insulation. I thought they were playing dodgeball with a family of hawks, but my imagination can get away from me in the middle of the night. After we quickly determined that we were in no grave harm,
we returned to bed but it was difficult to fall back asleep because every 5-10
minutes there was another critter racing around above our heads.
The next day, I found the hole they were using as a doorway
and my landlord stuffed it with a tightly balled-up and heavily taped wad of
plastic grocery bags. I mean, this thing was impenetrable. We shoved that
taped-up, plastic wad so tightly into that hole, it was impossible to move. We
foolishly assumed this would keep the little guys out. The next morning: gone. In
fact, I can’t even find evidence that the bags ever existed. Nowhere. It’s a
mystery that will not leave me alone.
All I can assume is that they drug the wad into the attic.
Either that, or squirrels have superior industrial technology than humans have ever
imagined.
(rw)
