Tuesday, January 02, 2007

This is serious, this is real, this is....WAR

Let's rewind a bit, shall we? To oh, say, about 6 months ago. Dates are irrelevant for these purposes but they have happened over the ensuing 6 months. You must understand that, unfortunately, I sleep in a bedroom separate from DH at the other end of the house because it is impossible, both physically and psychologically, for me to attempt to engage in productive REM sleep while in the bed beside something making a noise that is some combination of foghorn, chain saw, mad mama bear, warthog, and steam engine. [Author's note: That situation has long since been remedied, thankfully!]

  • Sometime in the summer, I am sitting at the computer, upstairs, and hear scritch-scritch-scritching in the attic above me. Oh, crud, there's a squirrel in the attic. Ignore it.
  • Repeat 4-5 evenings.
  • Tell DH, "There's a squirrel in the attic." Receive reply: "No, there's not."
  • Start hearing squirrels playing in the morning on Saturdays when I'm not getting up at 5:30 am. They start playing about 6 am.
  • Tell DH there is now more than one squirrel in the attic. Receive reply: "No, there's not."
  • Hear squirrels arguing/playing/chittering/mating/smoking cigarrettes in afterglow. Go upstairs and find miniature champagne glasses and a flower-laden ponytail holder, escaped from Olivia's bathroom, that was apparently used as a squirrel-sized thong. Not to mention a CD single of "Muskrat Love." Show DH. He claims they were left behind by a band of gnomes that was adopted by the family who lived here before us.
  • A few weeks later, the resident rodents have apparently extended an invitation to friends and/or family to set up house/nest at the other end of their plantation, which would be above DH's bedroom. DH tells me, "There are squirrels in the attic." Deliver reply: unprintable.
  • I am told that moth balls are a deterrent to squirrels. I toss moth balls in the attic. Squirrels are apparently turned on by moth balls. I think they use them for bowling or croquet; based on the sound, I cannot determine exactly which. I cannot retrieve the moth balls because they have sunk into the blown-in insulation. My upstairs smells like moth balls.
  • Spend the next few weeks banging the attic door, flicking the attic light on and off and yelling "SCRAM, YOU FUZZ-TAILED, EAVES-GNAWING FIENDS!" at dusk and dawn. The squirrels have responded to this, oh, yes -- by inviting friends over to hear the crazy lady and eat popcorn; there's no way their friends would believe it unless they see it for themselves.
  • Look online and inquire of friends as to measure for dealing with squirrels. Options are the catch-and-release-them-ten-miles-away-cage (not a long-term solution) or a professional extermination and a carpenter to re-seal all possible entries. My husband suggests putting rat poison in peanut butter in the attic. ??? I don't want live squirrels in the attic, I sure don't want dead squirrels in the attic. He is positive they would go outside to die. But then he's also positive they don't nest and have babies in attics. Funny, that's not what my extensive research told me.
  • Finally, DH decides to research the matter himself. He disappears in the basement to his computer for an hour and proclaims that he has decided to go with the experts. I am relieved -- we'll have a professional exterminator remove the rodents and have the soffits checked and sealed. He looks at me as though I am nuts. No, not THOSE experts, silly -- the OTHER experts -- rednecks. (Wonder if that sage advice will come from his uncle or my cousins....and, did you know that if you Google "squirrel attic redneck" you get 20,100 results? Try it!) That's right, my husband is going to sit in the attic with a gun. And, of course, none of the 11 guns in the cabinet downstairs will suffice -- I'm actually very relieved that he has opted NOT to hunt wildlife in our attic with any of his current shotguns, rifles, pistols, or even the Germany military semi-automatic something-or-other (I don't know, don't ask). This calls for a high-powered pellet gun. Which he has yet to purchase. It has to be a particular brand of gun and he knew right away which kind that was. I'm starting to think he's been hankering for this thing for some time and maybe invited the squirrels in, himself, as an excuse to acquire a new toy.
More to come at an undetermined time. Unfortunately (fortunately?) this is the week where my husband has to work late and can't go pellet-gun shopping for a few days. I will admit, I have just enough good 'ole girl in me to be mildly intrigued and, perhaps, turned on by his pending display of machismo. Stay tuned. I have no idea what happens when live 110-volt wires are hit by a screaming 4-mm ball of high-density plastic at high velocity.