TTGBITN: Chapter 2- A Sticky Situation

Thanks for tuning in for the next installment of Things That Go Bump in the Night. If you have not read the first installment, please take a moment now...

Fast Forward to the New Year:

I return from Christmas break and settle in to my life as a student studying Finance. Several weeks into the semester, Mother Hen and I begin to hear the dreaded scratching. Only this time……it is louder….and.... more frequent. Several weeks later, we began noticing the sounds at night. They were ok in the daytime, but at night it was REALLY annoying. I mean, I already had to put up with Mother Hen’s strange snoring bit. Now, that was something truly horrendous. To her credit, it has been discovered that she has sleep apnea. But I lived with her in the BBM days: Before Breathing Machine [which I hear she doesn’t use anyway]. Her ‘snores’, if you can call it that, are truly strange. Any time I have been around a snorer, the snore usually occurs as the snorer is breathing in. Not so with Mother Hen. She breathes in just fine. It’s in the breathing out when the problem occurs. The only way I can describe the sound is a high pitched….squealing noise. A very loud high pitched squealing noise. WOW. Until you hear it, I don’t think you can understand. I always tried to beat her to sleep so I wouldn’t have to lay awake for hours. I did learn a trick of saying her name really loud, which would wake her up enough to stop the noise, but not wake her up completely. He he he.

Now, not only do I have to contend with the Squealing Snore of Doom across the room, but now there was the Scritchy Scratch of the unknown creature in the wall space right by my head. I am one of those who really enjoys my sleep. You can imagine I am not a happy camper.

Assuming that we had a mouse problem, I decided to travel to my local SuperCenter to purchase some traps. I started with the old standard ‘instant death’ snap trap variety, determined to put an end to the squatter or squatters attempting to take up residence in my home. I bait them up with some yummy concoction of cheese and peanut butter, and set them out in the storage spaces in the bedroom. A few days later, I check the traps. The trap is snapped, the bait is gone, but there is no casualty of war. Hmmmm, smart rodent.

So I decide to step it up a notch. I bring out the big guns: Sticky Traps. Oh yeah. The ‘live trap’, a “humane” version consisting of a plastic tray filled with baited goo. I added a delectable morsel of bread that I knew no rodent could resist right in the middle of the goo, and placed it in one of the storage areas. One night, Mother Hen and I had our friend and neighbor Bubblewrap Girl over to watch a movie. As we were hanging out, we hear soft thumping from upstairs. I instantly realize it was my sticky trap and jump up like a kid at Christmas yelling that I caught the mouse. I tore upstairs and made my way over to the storage area. My heart was pounding. Even though I know Mr. Rodent will be on the trap, I hve some trepidation with knowing I will have to pick up the trap and take care of him. The idea sort of gives me the willies.

I slowly opened the hatch to the storage building. I find myself staring into the black, beady eyes of a creature that at first I don’t recognize. I step back for a moment, then take another peak at my prisoner. It was much too large for a mouse. It didn’t look like a mouse. It didn’t look like a rat. Then it hits me. The creature I have been staring at, the foul beast whom has been disturbing my slumber, the spawn of Hades which has eluded my earlier attempts at capture, is none other than…..a squirrel.

YES. And not just any squirrel. A FLYING SQUIRREL. A flying squirrel had somehow gotten into the apartment crawl spaces. Well, of course I start making all sorts of noise and chatter to the girls downstairs about my discovery. After all the excitement died down, I somehow got up enough nerve to pick up the heavy laden trap, upon which Mr. Squirrel is twitching, and deposit him into a large garbage sack. And no, I do not want to hear about my cruel treatment towards the poor squirrel [now or in the future as more of this tale is disclosed]. You were not there. Looking back, I realize that I could’ve taken a different course of action with the whole situation than I did [you will understand fully later]. I could’ve made a fortune. But at the time, my only thought was that there was a stinking, filthy animal in my house. I wanted to get rid of it. I. FELT. THREATENED.

I took the squirrel-filled trash bag all the way downstairs to the street and put it with the rest of the garbage [go ahead, call PETA]. Mother Hen and I were elated that we would have scratching-free sleep that night. We celebrate the removal of the Beast with frivolity.

In our excitement, we naively assumed that our rodent problems were over.

If only that statement were true.

Oh, Yes…..the story continues…..

stay tuned to The Green Eyed View, your source for all things Flying and Furry. Next installment coming soon!