Squirrels in the Attic

So read the latest missive from Chris, "my guy" at the trapping service [yes, of course humane] I engaged to remove the wildlife from my attic. Our relationship, which lasted 3 weeks, punctuated my days with high and low points, depending on the news contained in his short communiqués. The information in that note was about even. Bad news: I'd had 5 squirrels that we knew of in my attic. Good news: I now had 5 squirrels fewer in my attic.

The low points were this lengthy missive:

"I removed a mother squirrel today. I taped the hole to see if the babies are coming out on their own. If not we will need to get access inside to look for the babies. Will return tomorrow and let you know what happens."

"Need to look for babies in attic ASAP."

And so the merry men of Abracadabra Squirrels: We Make 'Em Disappear (not their real name) entered my life -- and not a moment too soon. I had been waging my own war on the invaders: taking my electric broom to the ceiling and running it under all the places where I heard them setting up their little barcaloungers. After awhile, I would lie in wait for them, "weapon" at the ready. At the first hint of sound I would bang the ceiling, then turn it on, shrieking "take that, you miserable squirrel!" On at least one occasion, I feel pretty sure that the noise was actually Chris checking the traps. When I saw him on the following day, he stood as far away as he could manage within the bounds of politeness and he didn't quite meet my eyes. It was probably my imagination that he looked a little nervous.

After three weeks, things were winding down. I hadn't heard noises in a couple of days, despite evidence that we were clearly still on the drive-by list. All that was left was to patch the hole (full disclosure: a piggy bank was harmed in the accomplishment of that goal) and to bid a grateful farewell to the Squirrel Squad.

I saved the notes.