Murophobia 10

Your frustration level increases as someone overtly tries to prevent you from reaching your goals.

It was definitely a frustrating day with someone overtly preventing me from reaching my goals.

That someone was a chipmunk.

My goal today was to start cleaning out and organizing my laundry room in the basement. I went downstairs only to hear a scurrying overhead. I looked up at the ceiling tiles and then the scurrier stopped atop the fluorescent light. I still shudder as I recall the shadow. I couldn't stay in the basement. Ran upstairs and called Husband who called Home Improvement Expert Murray Gula to get the name of the best critter control outfit in metro Detroit. Murray directed us to A & D Animal Control (Lake Orion, MI) and when I called, the sweet and calming Judy said if they couldn't get out today they would definitely be out first thing in the morning.

Fine.

Or not.

I briefly thought about moving one of the ceiling tiles in the basement and forcing one of the cats in there, but I was afraid that A) the chipmunk would run down my arm while I was moving the ceiling tile or B) the cat is so fat that he would come crashing through one of the ceiling tiles and I'd still have a chipmunk in there only now he's pissed.

I decide to clean upstairs because there's NO way I'm going back into the basement. Then I hear Son yell, "Mom, there's a squirrel in the dining room!"

"That's a chipmunk!" said Daughter.

"It ran into the living room!" yelled son.

I don't even remember dialing Husband's number but the next thing I know he was on the line and I'm screaming "It's in the living room!" into the phone.

"Did you trap it in there?" my always-thinking husband asked.

"Kids!" I yelled downstairs. "Shut the french doors to the living room! Don't let it out!"

(If having french doors on my living room makes me sound rich and obnoxious keep in mind that I also have a chipmunk running through my house)

Husband said "I'm in the car anyway. I'm coming home." I hung up the phone and started grabbing towels out of the closet. I ran downstairs and lay the towels against the bottom of the french doors so it couldn't squeeze out underneath. I could see it in there, flicking its tail, checking out the books on my bookshelf. Judging my reading habits.

I redialed A & D. "Judy," I nearly shrieked into the phone. "It's in my living room."

Judy immediately said she would call and see if one of the very busy guys could get to me today. (Judy, wherever you are, I love you.)

Husband came home and went into the living room with the large push broom from the garage. I could hear him thumping and stomping around. I was upstairs at this point.

"I lost it," Husband reported. "And I have to get back to work." (Note to self: Husband is at his best dispensing advice over the phone, not working with tools.)

Finally Dustin (from A & D) called and asked, "Do you still have a critter in your living room?" I had to admit I didn't know. I claimed to have heard some chirping noises just to make sure he would show up. Of course he showed up. First he did a recon mission. He came out and reported that it was there, hiding in the heat register, and that he would set some traps. "If you haven't caught it by morning, give us a call," he said casually.

If we haven't caught it by morning I'm going to assume it's because the thing escaped and gnawed my face off while I was sleeping.

Dustin left and I put Son on trap-watching duty. "Don't touch the doors," I cautioned. "Just look in there to see if there's anything in the traps."

Approximately 45 minutes later he said, "Mom, good news! It's in the cage. Come see!"

Daughter came running down the stairs, "I want to see!"

I didn't want to see. The children each grabbed a hand and practically pulled me to the door to peek in. Daughter wanted to go in but I refused to open the doors.

Husband came home and took the cage outside; he wanted to set it free. I wouldn't let him. The kids wanted to rehabilitate it and keep it as a pet. Son was convinced he could teach it to sing like Alvin and the Chipmunks.

My skin is still crawling. I have a serious phobia about small critters that scurry. Even when they're not scurrying. Once my cat left me a dead present on my doormat and I had to leave my apartment to get to work. Only one exit. Dead mouse. I was trapped in the apartment. I heard the doorbell ring and there was a college student selling magazine subscriptions.

"How many do I have to buy to get you to get rid of that mouse?" I asked.

The answer: three.

That kid had no idea he could have walked away with my entire paycheck.

One last thing. I am ordering some of this: Shake-Away. But why do they have pictures of the darn things all over the website? I can barely stay on it long enough to enter my credit card number.

And yes, I'd rather have a house that smells like fox pee than a chipmunk.