Wild living

This story originally appeared in the January 20, 2011, issue of The Trussville Tribune.

For those of you who have heard Jimmie’s and my critter stories, our current situation is just another chapter in a continuing saga. Over the past couple of years, we’ve been plagued with a series of incidents that have left us wondering if our house has been designated a wildlife refuge, and nobody told us.

Two Christmases ago, our gift to each another was payment for the removal of a possum from a dead space left by the builder between the master bath and a hall closet. The unfortunate creature tumbled there from a cozy bed she’d made for herself in our attic, and she couldn’t climb back up.

Ms. Possum was quite unhappy about her predicament, but I can assure you, she was no unhappier about it than we were. We first learned of her presence when she fell. The noise of her descent and subsequent efforts to scale the inner walls of the house threw the Chihuahuas into a yapping fit, which, in turn, set the parrot to screeching.

Amid the pandemonium, Jimmie called the critter control people, who came the next day and actually had to cut a hole in the closet wall through which to pull the furious rodent out. Two hundred bucks later, we were the proud, albeit poorer, owners of a possum-free home.

Not too many months after that, we came home from a Saturday breakfast out with friends to find a dead squirrel reposing on our den sofa. It took us while to think things through, but we finally figured the poor fellow had likely been ambushed and killed by the cat next door and later discovered by the Chihuahuas.

My little rocket scientists evidently considered the squirrel one heck of a fuzzy dog toy and brought him home. Our guess is they dragged him into the house when we let them out for a potty break, leaving the door ajar for them to run in and out until time for us to go. While we were gone, they laid their prize out on the sofa. It was one of the more peculiar things to ever happen around here, but one that was easily overcome by disposing of the carcass.

Our current problem, however, is about to get the best of us. Raccoons have invaded our attic, and they’ve made it perfectly clear they don’t intend to depart willingly. They created an entrance by prying a vent cover from an eave over the sunroom, which could easily be remedied. But until the area is guaranteed raccoon-free, Jimmie doesn’t want to risk confining an animal in the attic by replacing the cover too quickly.

In the meantime, he’s setting a live trap baited with sardines every few days and has actually managed to capture three of our masked squatters. Each time he catches one, Jimmie relocates his prey to an undisclosed location across town. But a day or so later, we’ll again hear a raccoon rambling around in the attic. Either the woods around here are teeming with raccoons, or the ones Jimmie hauls off are following him back home.

Downside of the live trap thing is, other animals are attracted, too. Last week, the neighbor’s cat caught a whiff of the sardine bait and suddenly found herself in confined quarters for the day. Talk about a mad cat. Jimmie was afraid to let her out.

And so it goes. But at least we can take pride in one thing: Word has apparently spread among the raccoon population that we offer five-star accommodations here. If we could only charge them accordingly, I’d install cable TV in the attic, set out some clean towels, roll out the red carpet and turn on the Vacancy sign.