Squirrels in the Attic

Sharon decided that we had squirrels in the attic. Now, I’m a reasonable man and if bushy tailed rodents are running loose, I’m going to be the first one to root them out. The little bastards are destructive as hell and chew everything in sight. True, we both saw them on the roof a time or two. That’s when she got on her squirrel kick. Being the dutiful husband, I pulled down the stairs and climbed up to investigate. Again and again and again.

Imagine a bull dog, holding the end of a rope. Tie the loose end to a jet plane as it takes off and flies to California. When it lands, that bulldog is still holding on. Refuel and fly out over the ocean, point the nose down and crash into the sea. Sink a thousand feet to the bottom and guess what? That dog is still hanging on. That’s my Sharon but a hundred times worse. She’s determined, obstinate, obsessed and God help me, I love her. Why else go tramping around the attic in search of phantom squirrels? I was a fool to think that things would blow over and go away.

Everything came to a head on a lazy Saturday morning. We were in the attic, going through boxes and stuff. Sharon moved an old suitcase, shrieked and jumped back, banging her head on a two by four. I leaned in and looked down at a tiny ball of insulation and three acorns. Shit, it did look like a nest but was very small and kind of old looking. I’m thinking chipmunk and turn around to voice my opinion. Sharon is huddled behind me for protection in case a crazed squirrel jumps out and goes for her throat. I open my mouth and let it hang because she’s holding her head and giving me the laser eyes. Without a word, she turns around and stomps down the ladder.

I linger and poke around for more evidence but find nothing. It just doesn’t have the feel of a squirrel invasion. Besides, that little nest wouldn’t hold a squirrel of any size. Logic aside, I have to come up with something because I’m sick of the whole business. If Sharon wants squirrels, that’s what she’ll get. My old buddy Dale is just the man to hook me up. Sometimes, my brilliance impresses even me. In truth, thirty years of marriage will sharpen any man’s survival skills. First step is to calm down the wife, then a trip to Dale's place and this little squirrel problem is done and over. I take a final look around and climb down the ladder.

Sharon is at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and an ice bag, held to forehead. I grab a cup and pull up a chair. Another useful tidbit to know is that when the wife is pissed, let her start the conversation. The topic is going in her direction, regardless of what you say. I idly stare out the window and wait. Two sips and we get started.

“I refuse to live in a house that is overrun by squirrels.”

“I know. How is your head?”

“Pounding. What are you going to do about our problem? Am I going to have to call someone?”

“No.”

“I won’t wait like with the mailbox.”

“It’s done, why bring that up?”

“Two weeks! That’s how long it took for you to make up your mind to do it! And the front porch? What was it, two months before you’d re-paint!”

“All right, calm down. I’m going to take care of the squirrels.”

“When?”

“Today, right now. I hunted squirrels as a kid, and know what to do. First, I’m going to run to the hardware store and get fresh cartridges for the pellet gun. When I get back, I’ll hunt those bastards down if it takes all night!”

Sharon stared at me, wide eyed and doubtful. She couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or skeptical at my thirst for blood. I wasn’t waiting around to find out. Grabbing the car keys, I hit the door.

Dale, my old high school buddy, lives outside of town on a couple of acres at the foot of Hogs Head Mountain. After school, I went off to college and Dale went to the mountain. I’d hang out with him on weekends; stay stoned on homegrown and grill rabbits and squirrels on the fire. Then, I met Sharon and had to grow up. Dale never did.

I followed the familiar route out of town. New housing had sprang up along the way and I realized that it had been several years since Dale and I had seen each other. When I got close, I slowed, looking for the mailbox. The weeds along the roadside were chest high and I almost missed the turnoff. Slowing, I eased off the asphalt and onto a two lane, rutted track. Large oaks and sweet gums enveloped me, casting a cool gloom all around. The smells of cedars, pines and moist forest dirt invaded the car. I breathed the heady aroma and carefully negotiated the potholes and roots. Even before rounding the last curve, the dogs began barking and raising a ruckus. As I rolled into the clearing where the trailer sat, a coon hound and two beagles rushed out, biting at my tires. Dale was sprawled out asleep on a lounge chair in the front yard. He never stirred, even with the racket going on. I killed the engine and waited. My friend hadn’t changed much since we had last run into each other. His head was buzzed to the scalp and the long red beard lay in a tangle on the chest of his overalls. His feet were stuffed into a pair of muddy hunting boots and several Bud cans lie in the grass beside his chair. I considered the barking dogs at my door and tooted the horn. Dale stirred slowly, scratching his head and squinting in my direction.

“Hey, knuckle head, do something about these damn dogs!” I yelled out the window.

Dale smiled, stroked his beard and lumbered over, kicking dogs as he came. “I reckon if the Pope came riding up on a brown mule, I couldn’t be more surprised at seeing your sorry butt.”

“Yeah? Well it’s good to see you, too,” I grinned and got out of the car. “I had a great idea, driving out here. How about I give you a cell phone for your birthday.”

“What for?”

“Well…if you fall and break a leg, at least you could get help. Still no electricity or running water?”

Dale looked at me like I was crazy. “I got candles, a fresh water spring and a brand new outhouse. As you can see, life is good! Don’t tell me that you came all the way out here to worry about me.”

“Actually, I need a couple of fresh squirrels.”

Dale stroked his beard and thought about it. “You know, some squirrel and dumplings would be good.”

I laughed and told him about being in the attic with Sharon. My plan was to put a couple of dead squirrels up there to fool her. You know, get her off my back. Dale cautioned me that while he didn’t know much about women, he did know that they were smarter than men and I was liable to crap and fall back in it. I assured him that being a married man, living in danger was old hat. My buddy rolled his eyes and promised to deliver the critters to my mailbox that very night. After we popped a couple of beers and swapped some stories, I hopped in the car and headed back to suburbia.

The whole caper was starting to feel like fun. I decided on the drive back to tweak the plan a bit. Sharon was in the kitchen making tuna salad for lunch. After giving her a peck on the cheek, I headed for the extra bedroom and our junk closet. By the time she poked her head in, I was elbow deep in one of the boxes.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Just digging out my old hunting clothes. Have you seen my sheath knife? You know, it’s got a white bone handle and eight inch blade.”

“My God, what do you need that thing for? You act like you’re going on a safari!”

“Funny, dear. I’m just taking care of our problem. I’m going to put a bowl of bird seed up there today and in the morning when they come out to feed, I’ll be waiting.”

“You’re not going to shoot up the house or anything, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

Sharon wasn’t too sure but at least satisfied that I was being, what she called, proactive. The rest of our day was uneventful and the next morning, I was at the mailbox, retrieving two squirrels. I had to laugh because Dale had wrapped the game in a red ribbon. I tossed the ribbon and climbed up into the attic to wait. Fortunately, Sharon was anxious about my hunting trip and the wait was only thirty minutes. When I heard the water run and movement down below, I got up, banged a few rafters and kicked some boxes. When her head, wide eyed and fearful, rose slowly into the opening, I was ready. Dramatically, I stepped forward and presented her with two dead squirrels. Their black little eyes were staring right at her. Drawing my blade with a flourish, I offered to save the tails as a souvenir. I was serious about that part but Sharon wouldn’t hear of it. I trudged off to the trash, dumped the critters and washed my hands of the whole business.

By mid afternoon, I was in the recliner, planning to doze and watch golf. Sharon’s on the phone with her mother and you would have thought that I had just limped home from the war with the Medal of Honor. I smiled, dozed off and was awakened by Sharon, easing into my lap. She gave me a long, wet kiss. To the victor go the spoils and it looked like I was in for some spoiling. I returned her kiss and she pulled back to look at me.

“I’m proud of you,” she said. “When you put your mind to it, you can do anything.”

“Well, thanks,” I said and reached in to cup a breast. “Do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So, do you want to?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Hot damn!” I almost threw her off my lap but she plopped back down.

She nibbled my ear and whispered, “Could I ask one, teeny little favor, first?”

“mmmm,” I tasted the soft flesh of her neck.

“I need you to get that…ooh, that feels good…that heavy box down from the attic for me.”

“Later.”

“Well…I was thinking that if we do it now, then I would have time to take a bath and shave my legs. I’ll dig out the candles and my red nightie.”

My eyes popped wide open. “ Red nightie?”

“Yes.”

“Throw in some high heels and you have a deal.”

“Done.”

Retrieving a box should be a simple job. I suppose my carnal thoughts clouded the fact that Sharon is a bit of a pack rat. I had to wade through stacks of old college books, boxes of Barbie dolls, piles of Christmas decorations and much more. Sweat was beading on my forehead by the time she spied a large box at the rear of all the junk. After dragging the thing out into the open, I stepped back to let her have a go. Sharon worked the tape off of the top with her nails and reached in. Quickly, she snatched her hand back, glanced at me and back at the box.

“What is it?” I leaned forward.

For a moment, nobody moved or spoke. Then, a squirrel popped out of the box and looked at us. Sharon screamed and the critter jumped right at her, bounding off her shoulder. She threw up her arms and inadvertently backhanded me square in the nose. I reeled backwards, seeing stars and tripped over my own feet. Blindly, I grabbed at thin air and fell backwards off of the wooden flooring, landing on my back in six inches of insulation. The sheetrock cracked but held for about ten seconds. Just long enough for me to figure out that I needed to grab the rafters on each side. Then, the whole works gave way. Fortunately, my foot snagged long enough to slow the fall. I dangled upside down for a brief moment before dropping onto the counter and rolling off onto the cold tile of the kitchen floor. I stared up at the hole in the ceiling, blinked against falling debris, groaned and rolled onto my side.

Funny, the things we think of when our life flashes before our eyes. For me, it was how long it would be before I saw that red nightie again.

Maybe, never.