Last week the pest control guy was at my house trying to get a dead squirrel out of my wall and I didn’t have the greatest confidence in the guy to begin with because when I called the week before to complain that something very large was hurling itself at my bedroom wall the pest control guy was all “It’s probably a field mouse” and I was all “No. It’s crazy loud and huge. It sounds like a demon is throwing a bear into the wall. Or a baby chupacabra with a handgun” and the pest guy was all “A chewpa-what?” Because HE’D NEVER HEARD OF A CHUPACABRA. Then I was like “Wait…seriously? Are you new?” Because that’s the kinda shit I would expect my pest control guy to know. Then I called Victor and I was all “Okay, our pest control guy doesn’t know what a chupacabra is” and he was all “Really? We live in Texas. That shit should be on the exam” and I was like “EXACTLY.” And that’s why I’m still married to Victor.
Then a week later it started to smell odd and it was pretty obvious that the chupacabra was dead in the wall so the pest guy came out and said it was a squirrel that fell into a hole in between the walls and that he was going to try to “hook him” from the attic but he couldn’t reach him so he gave up. Then the next day another dead-squirrel fisherman from the same company came by because he wanted to try to hook it. So basically my house is like a giant claw crane game and the prize is a dead squirrel. After about 30 minutes of the squirrell fisherman being in the attic I started to suspect that he’d been murdered by the remaining chupacabras but turns out that he’d just given up and dumped a bottle of rat-sorb into the wall. That’s a real thing, y’all. “Rat-sorb”. To absorb the smell of dead animals. That’s on the label. I wish this was all stuff that I still didn’t know.
So finally the smell has dissipated but a few minutes ago I heard something shuffling around in the walls again so I decided to scare it out by screaming and growling and pounding on the walls like I was a vicious predator but then I turned around and both of the cats were just staring at me disgustedly like “You’re embarrassing us all here” and I was all “Oh fuck you, cats. At least I’m trying” and that’s when I noticed that our mailman was at my door staring at me through the glass so I explained that I was trying to scare away the the chupacara in my wall and he was all “Oh. It’s probably W.C. Fields” and then I just stood there because usually I’m the weird one in the conversation and I wanted to appreciate the moment. Turns out though that there’s actually an escaped, angry spider monkey named “W.C. Fields” stalking our area who just attacked a woman and trapped her in her garage for an hour. All of this is true, y’all.
So I looked up “spider monkey” on the internet and apparently they’re afraid of pumas so I’ve been playing the sounds of pumas screaming on a loop on my computer. So far I haven’t heard any noises from the walls, which I think pretty much confirms that we totally have a spider monkey in there. Victor says it just confirms that it’s impossible to hear anything when the house is filled with screaming pumas. Then he yelled at me about the kitchen being dirty but it was easy to tune him out because of all the pumas. Which? Kind of a bonus. Screaming pumas are my new soundtrack.
PS. MSNBC on the still-loose spider monkey: “Don’t go outside. Don’t try to pet him. Do not befriend him.” Awesome. The spider monkey has just become the hero from “The Running Man”.
Comment of the day: So Jenny, I love you, and not in the weird romantic way but in the way that every time I think my life sucks horribly and I can hear my mom’s friend saying “every time I think my life is bad I just think ‘at least I don’t have a dead sheep in my bathroom.’”
Yeah, true story. I totally had a sheep, and it was sick and then my mother was like..”We’re going to save it from it’s horrible sickness and fever now go and put it in the bathroom! and crank up the ac” and I was all like…”Oh fuck, I have a dying sheep in my bathroom and my house is a huge freezer, how much more fucked up could my life get?” And then the sheep died and I thought, that, that right there is how much more fucked up my life could be.
And now like, five or six years later my mother is all “homg our rooster Jay has a broken leg that will never work again, therefore once winter comes we shall do what we did to Micheal (our other rooster) we shall carry him into the bathroom at night and let him sleep inside” ~ Yeah, exactly. What the fuck? But in all regards I do love Jay the Rooster, he’s bad ass and I applaud my mothers generosity to our farm pets.
But still thanks, for having a dead squirrel in your wall that no one can fish out. It makes me feel less alone. ~ Rebekah Mae