Critter
Miss Myrtle’s got a critter in the attic.
Something about that sentence captures the imagine, no? Indulge me as I repeat — Miss Myrtle’s got a critter in the attic.
No, it’s not what you might think. That’s not slang for saying she has a screw loose, or is a few cards shy of a full deck or anything disparaging like that.
It simple means that a wild animal, a raccoon she guesses, is freeloading in her attic, callously making a racket at night and keeping her awake.
“I hear him scratching around up there and gnawing right over my bedroom at night,” says Myrtle, 84, who as the daughter of a Baltimore preacher man doesn’t rattle easy. “It’s keeping me up.”
I tell Myrtle, who lives alone with no pets, “at least you have company.”
No response.
Miss Myrtle wants my help. I remind her that I may be a jack-of-all-trades, but I’m not animal control. She agrees, doesn’t want anyone hurt. We decide I’ll look up in the attic to see what kind of creature we’re contending with, but she’ll call pest control as back up.
So, I climb the short step ladder, push up the plywood attic entrance door and squeeze through the dark, narrow opening. The light’s busted. Great. But a handy sort like myself comes prepared amid unpredictable situations, which these days are becoming more and more predictable.
I flick on my bright LED flashlight which cuts through the blackness and shine its beam towards the far end of the long, narrow attic — connecting the original cottage to the even more spacious den and two-bedroom addition. I see nothing but roof rafters, floor joists and insulation for nearly 50 feet.
I venture a few feet further awkwardly shimmying atop the main air shaft feed, when that scene from the movie “Alien” flashes in my mind — where Dallas is fleeing the hideous creature in the spaceship’s dark airshaft tunnels and suddenly his flashlight beam falls on the monster’s horrible face before him – and it’s over.
Better check. I turn and swing the flashlight beam behind me, half expecting to see a black-masked face, mouth open, teeth bared, poised to pounce.
Nothing.
I tell Myrtle no dice. No critter sighted. While we wait for the professionals to show, the plot naturally thickens. It usually does with Miss Myrtle. Now, Miss Myrtle tells me, the raccoon is stalking her at night.
“I think he’s following me around the house,” says Miss Myrtle, her typically placid demeanor, edged with frustration.
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“Whaddya mean?” I ask. “You’ve seen him inside the house with you?”
Now, I have had experience with such matters – like that time two young raccoons snuck through a hole in the screen door of my boatyard bungalow after a Fourth of July BBQ— to chow down on the leftover hamburger and hotdog rolls. I had to chase them back out the door with a broom. (Please note: I didn’t need an AR-15 semi-automatic military assault rifle.)
Miss Myrtle explains.
“Last night, I was in the den watching TV and I heard this scratching right above me. The raccoon was chewing on something. Then, when I went bed, I heard him again right above me. I think he’s following me around the house.”
“Well,” I assure her, “he’s probably just lonely.” No response.
The pest guy ends up being a real pest. Doesn’t show when he says. And the raccoon is feeling more and more at home, gnawing on and tearing holes in air duct vents (we find out later) and shadowing Miss Myrtle from the attic above as she moves about her ranch house.
The animal control finally shows. He says he saw the critter. It’s a raccoon, probably a young adult. He sets the trap.
In the meantime, I seal off with heavy wire mesh the two old exhaust fans in the roof where the rascal racoon clearly has been entering the attic. If he’s in there, the only way he’s coming out, is inside a cage trap. And no other critters can enter, I assure Myrtle.
The next day, I’m proved wrong. There’s no critter in the cage and Myrtle finds a section of screen I installed — on the roof below. The raccoon is no dummy. He had breached the weakest spot. I seal it back up, reinforcing it with heavy wire.
The next day the trap is still empty and Miss Myrtle gets to thinking creatively. She forms a back up plan to catch the raccoon. The plan involves me, a roll of Flex Tape “as seen on TV” and a fishing net.
She came up with the notion after watching me seal a leak in her outside shower’s copper pipe with the extremely sticky tape – and almost become a permanent part of the shower.
As Myrtle’s plan goes, we’d layout a few feet of the flex tape, sticky side up of course with some food as bait near the attic entrance. The flex tape would be nailed to a plywood plank and attached to the floor joists. The effect would be sort of like those mouse glue traps. “That tape doesn’t let go,” she says.
The next morning I’d pop up through the attic entrance, singing “Zippity Doo Da” I assume, scoop up in the net the racoon stuck to the flex tape and deliver it back to the great outdoors.
“Is there a plan c?” I ask Miss Myrtle. No response.
Let’s just see how we do with the trap, I say. Turns out, the racoon takes the bait and is escorted off the premises. I repair the AC vents he destroyed. And Miss Myrtle gets to sleep at night. No more critters. So, I think.
The next day Miss Myrtle asks me: “What’s good for sealing up mouse holes?”
