The Nut Job in the Attic

I’m being very literal here. It’s a squirrel. Or my husband. Hard to tell who’s nuttier since the feud began. At some point during one of our rare freezes, the varmint found a hole in the soffit and took shelter in the attic. We might have been more hospitable had it simply curled up next to the water heater or furnace or something to wait it out. But, no. It has to scamper, scratch, rip, claw, and irritate the hell out of Husband. No kidding. It sounds like the critter’s moving furniture up there.

None of the human accesses to the attic (there are 3; our house is oddly configured) have given us the slightest hint of where it is, or any sign of a nesting place. That lack of intel may well lead to the total destruction of our home.

Husband started by tapping the soffit with a rake handle. The first two times it worked. The squirrel shot outa there like an RPG. But then it began making forays deeper and deeper into the attic, to the point where we are now getting the full surround-sound of its activities. Now I vacuum plaster at least twice a day from Husband pounding the ceilings with mop and broom handles. An appropriate implement strategically resides in each room.

But that’s not the worst of it. You see, even before the home invasion, Husband has been battling the fluffy-tailed rodents who persist in stripping our pecan tree and digging up his prized tomato plants. He has a .22 pump-action pellet gun equipped with (get this) a sniper scope. But he’s no longer content to be the terror of the back yard. This is war. Time to bring in the heavy artillery.

I was sitting here on the computer the first time I heard Husband firing blindly all around the attic. Must’ve jumped a mile out of my chair. Then it escalated to strings of firecrackers that actually rattled the windows and caused the lights to flicker. But as if nightmares of smoldering insulation weren’t enough, it seems my father-in-law’s WWII issue M1 has come out of hiding. Fortunately, there’s no ammo for it. UNfortunately, there is for the more modern pistols which used to be safely locked in a strong box. OMG. Never mind the bullet holes in the ceiling. What about plumbing, heating and electrical?

Once, sitting here listening to the scrapings above and the mayhem below, I confided my fears to my sister, the Mountain Woman. Not many days later, The Depression Era Cookbook arrived. Carefully bookmarked was a recipe for squirrel. Very funny, Sis. I’ll roast the critter over the embers of my home.