torsdag 17 februari 2022

 Bats in My Belfry. Squirrels in the Basement.

    I was sitting at the computer when I first heard an odd thunk to port. I didn’t give it much thought, until I heard another odd sound from high on the wall, like along the sill. I wondered about it for a second or two, then went back to my writing, thinking it was probably just a random flutter of loose labels on a stack of Jackie’s plastic tubs in the basement. We have four fans circulating air down here 24-hours a day. 

   That’s what I preferred to think anyway. I was not wanting to dig through stacks of storage boxes four feet deep to get at the sill to look for a mouse or something. I prefer to trouble shoot household problems from afar, especially when I’m busy doing something else, or if such trouble should occasion me to go outdoors in the cold on just an exploratory mission.

   You might wonder why I would suspect an intrusion of anything from the outside, but you should know that there were deer eating grass against the foundation the night before last. I was astounded to see lots of grass debris and snow pockets below the window that weren’t there when I went to bed. The fookers!

   There it was again, that noise. I could imagine that maybe deer were on the grassy south side of the foundation pushing aside the folded extension ladder leaning against it, making it go ‘bump.’ So, impatient as I was with the whole idea of these unidentified intermittent noises, I slipped on an unlaced pair of shoes (and no jacket), opened the backdoor, and carefully picked my way through the snow, walking a wide arc into the numbing cold toward the bird feeder where I could turn and look around the corner of the house and see if there was any annoying ungulate feeding there oblivious to my suffering; there was not.

   I turned around into the wind, my hair wild upon my head, and back-tracked my cold self toward the door where warmth awaited me, as well as my last Extra Stout; (that postponement of our 'Bott’l Run' planned earlier in the week had cost me dearly and left my inventory dangerously low) ... I slipped off my snowy shoes and slipped on my wool ‘Moc-socks’ against the cold draft which had sneaked in under my desk. Brrrr!

   Just as I was poised to tap these very keys, I heard a distinct sound of something scampering along the sill, then stop and become silent.

   “Crap!" I thought to myself, and pushed my chair back from the desk disgustedly, knowing I had to get to the bottom of this mystery myself before it became a mystery to Jackie; I had to determine exactly what was making the noises and where it was doing it, before it piqued her attention.

   I took off my sweatpants and put on some jeans (real pants), for I have this thing about being appropriately dressed for any occasion. Off went the Mocs and on went the unlaced shoes. On went the ceiling light in the SW corner of the basement and out came three plastic totes from near where I had last heard the noises. I stood there quietly, listening for more noise; imagining busy twitching whiskers of some rodent or other paused the same way, its fuzzy little round-topped ears busily turning to and fro anxious to determine what I, the predator, was doing opposite it and what was going to happen next. Tick, tick, tick …

" ... its fuzzy little round-topped ears busily turning to and fro anxious to determine what I, the predator, was doing opposite it ..."

   Neither of ‘us' moved, or uttered a syllable; or moved as to nod, or noisily wink lash or follicle; the fan atop the gun case whirling in dissociation of the drama playing out in its immediate presence. But it was me who quickly tired of this cat and mouse game, and moved away as quietly as I could, thinking how an animal, a squirrel perhaps, had gotten into that cavity and was exploring its length and breadth as its potential warm winter hide-a-way …

   I hadn’t seen any sign of gnawing; no scraps, no feces, chewed wood, paper; and how, but from the outdoors, could it have accessed that sill? Yes, maybe under the deep snow on the deck that I had insulated during Jackie’s three-day stay in the hospital last spring. It was working well so far this winter; there was no signs of heat-escaping there now. Maybe a squirrel or something had tunneled through the snow, almost a foot deep now, and had gained access between the storm and inside door of the south side porch. It seemed a possible answer, so I put on some heavy clothes, insulated boots, jacket and cap, and went outdoors again to dig some snow away to no avail except determine that the doors were secure and no animal out had entered in. ARGH!

   I walked back around the house, looking closely at the wood siding (I just have to scrape and paint this year), for any odd holes or looks thereof and finding none went back indoors, my mind still busily  thinking of a solution to this noise-thing that had disrupted my afternoon/evening so.

   Shedding my snow-encrusted Carhartt jacket and bibs, I opened a bottle of cold Guinness Draught (Yes, I am obviously in my dregs now.) and sat down at my desk when I heard the noise to port again. This time it seemed like it was between the newly insulated part and the paneled office wall. 

   As the noise continued, I quietly arose from my office chair to try and pinpoint exactly where it was from, and what it was. Could I identify the sound? If I had to describe it, what would I say? Gnawing? Scratching? Then it moved away, growing fainter rather than staying in one spot.

   Walking around the big laser printer, watching so I wouldn’t bump anything or make a sound, the noise continued unabated, and sounded so close that I was desperate to maybe see the animal on a tub or box directly in front of me, since I hadn’t seen any sign of it outdoors…

   Then, it stopped, and started again right in front of me, seemingly within arm’s length … my brain trying to make sense of it…

   As though someone had grasped my head and physically turned it, my line of sight was virtually pulled down to the 4-inch by six-inch by eight-inch stereo speaker resting on the palmate moose antler on the counter, camouflaged by a tall clutch of pussy-willows standing in a vase. It was worth a good laugh.

   There was no squirrel. No mouse. But a small remote speaker (one of four) connected to the amplifier, that continued to broadcast input of some denomination after I had stopped playing some music. Shutting it off, the noise stopped.