The squirrels are back. They took up residence with us sometime last December I think, when the north winds caused all living things to seek shelter. They had taken a year off from their spot in my attic; perhaps it was to visit one of their other homes in the mountains, or to their beach house; whatever the reason, they’re back.
So the squirrel assassin, aka “Rocky remover,” made a return visit to my house. He called me on the phone to set the appointment and ask for directions. I knew he didn’t really need them. And he knew that I knew.
As squirrel assassins go, mine is a likeable guy. He takes pride in what he does and he likes sharing with his clients all the intricacies of his trade. “These things must be done delicately,” I’m sure I heard him say one time.
Please know that I have nothing against the squirrel as a species. As long as they are in the woods behind my house we get along just fine.
I don’t hold with Fred’s theory that they are just “rats with furry tails.” Fred really believes this. It was just last week that he was telling me, “If rats can figure out a way to grow fur on their tails and hop then their entire image changes.” Unless of course they pitch a tent above where you are sleeping.
So the assassin came out to the house last Monday morning, early, because that’s how they do it, crack of dawn type guys. I had already left for work and gave instructions to my son Matt on how to deal with the assassin. He would be paid a one-time fee, in small, unmarked bills.
About 30 minutes after I’d been at work I received a call from Matt asking if I wanted the 30-day or the 90-day “assassins warranty.”
“Well if he does his job why do I need a warranty at all?” I asked.
Matt didn’t have an answer, or at least didn’t volunteer one, in fact, there was a dead silence.
“Is he standing right there?”
“Mmmmm hmmmmm.”
“OK, tell him I don’t want any warranty, just the basic one time, take ‘em all out, fee.”
“OK,” Matt said. “Oh, and Dad, there’s one more thing.”
The way things were going lately for me I knew one more thing probably didn’t mean Publisher’s Clearing House was at the door wanting to know if I preferred annual payments or a lump sum.
“What is it?” I hated to ask.
“We have bats.”
“Bats! You’re kidding. How many?”
“He showed me two,” Matt said.
Squirrels were one thing. Now we were in a whole different arena. I didn’t care what Fred said; there was no way to make a bat cute, no matter how much fluff and fur you apply. They were rabid blood-sucking creatures that swooped down at night and turned you into one of the Undead. I didn’t care for bats at all.
“What are we suppose to do about bats,” I asked.
“The exterminator says to
spray them with water or Win-dex,” Matt said. They are not actually in the attic; they’re in the eaves. He also says to buy some more of that wire screen, to make sure they stay out.”
So there I had it, my castle was being overrun with wild animals. What was next, a Monitor lizard in my shower? A Black Mamba in my pantry?
A little while later as I sat at my desk envisioning the Amazon running through my den, I felt a Blackberry-like vibration from my right hip. I looked at the phone and saw I had a new email from Matt. The subject line said, “Bats.”
I opened the attachment and there they were. Two little not cute at all furry creatures huddled in the corner of the wooded eave, just outside my attic. They slept peacefully, waiting for the sun to sink into the horizon and blackness to envelop the sky. This was no job for a glass-cleaning product. I needed a crucifix, or at the least a Van Helsing.
Or better yet, I needed the squirrels to attack them. They were there first, intruding long before the bats spotted us from above. Where was their squirrelly pride? They were just hopping rats with furry tails. It was high time they started acting the part. Of course, they would need to be quick about it. Their time was growing short.
•••
A guy is sitting at home when he hears a knock at the door. He opens the door and sees a snail on the porch. He picks up the snail and throws it as far as he can. Three years later, there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and sees the same snail. The snail says, “What the hell was that all about?”