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OK. So, what critters am I most afraid of? Do you remember? That’s right. Squirrels! Ever since the 7th grade, when Mrs. Groff told us that squirrels carry rabies and to “watch that one doesn’t drop from a tree and bite you on the neck,” I have kept my eye on those disease-ridden little sneaks!
Fast forward 40 years (give or take). I am sleeping soundly. Dreaming, no doubt, about walking naked in the grocery store or something, when I am wakened suddenly by, what I could only describe as, a grabby skittering across my leg. In a dopey panic, I wake Andrew. “OMG, Andrew! There’s something in here.” “What do you mean?”–that’s him. “Something just ran across my leg.”–me. “Should I get up?” –him again. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”
So, my hero got up. Turned on lights. Peed. Looked around. Came back to bed. “Nothing. But I’ll leave the hall light on for you.”
“Thanks.” He falls right back to sleep. I cannot. But, as I lay there listening, I convinced myself my leg had merely started falling asleep, I was dreaming, you know the routine.
Fast forward. But this time only about 3 hours. Andrew wakes me. “Deborah. We have to get up and get dressed. Something is in here.”
“WHAT?????”
So, we dress and tip toe around, all the while hearing this munching or thumping noise in the kitchen. We notice that the recorders, which reside on the piano, are on the floor in the livingroom. We make a plan. Close all doors except the one to the hall. Andrew stands at one opening to the kitchen, and I stand at—well somewhere near–the other one. “It’s a chipmunk!” He says. “Except it’s gray.”
“Yiiiikkkkessss! Then it isn’t a chipmunk!”
“There it is! It’s on the table!” WHOMP! (That was my hero slamming a broom on the table about 5 feet from the intruder.)
“Great! Now the table is dirty!”
“So go clean it.”
“Op! (Yes, he said ‘Op!’) I see it! It’s between the window and the screen.”
“What should we do?”
“You should call Tom.” So, I did. Left a message.
“Maybe I should call the police?”
“OK. Good.”
So, I called the police apologizing for the non-emergency emergency. After all, there have been recent rabies stories.
Fast forward about 4 minutes. My brave hero in blue raps on the door, assesses the situation and asks if he can call his sargent. “OK. Not a rabies threat. And, that’s not a chipmunk, ma’am. That’d be a squirrel.”
“SSSSSSCCCCCRRRRREEEEEEEAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMM….It was on my leg in my bed!!!”
“Did it bite you?”
“No, but it really wanted to.”
Andrew decides he will drive himself to the train and check in later. One hero fades into the distance. The other one, the one dressed in blue, calls for back-up. So, now I have two officers deciding the fate of this deadly rodent. They decide to try to capture it. Do I have any boxes. Of course, I do. And just the right size. No, really, I do, and that wasn’t sarcasm. The squirrel is frantically running up and down the screen and the fan trying to get out. A normal person could have felt sorry. I wanted it to have a medium-sized squirrel heart attack.
Bottom line, and this is so anti-climactic—they opened the screen and the squirrel ran out. But, this is only after they broke my blind and spilled vinegar and cracked a dish trying to get there. I am so embarrassed at how dirty the windows are.
As they leave, the officers ask my name and phone number. I am re-horrified. “Don’t put this in the Croton Blotter! We only read the paper to make fun of the people in the Blotter!”
They smile and tell me to have a nice day.
Yeah, right. Like I’ll ever have a nice day again.
About the Author
Deborah
This is me! I'm not really blue.
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