Were you aware that a squirrel can eat through a two by four?

I was not.

First, let me extend my deepest apologies for what is about to be blogged to a certain beloved Squirrel. I adamantly assert that no actual squirrels were harmed in the production of this blog. My opinions about squirrels and squirrel subsidiaries (chipmunks, voles, opossums, mice, rats and to some extent, raccoons) are solely my own and do not reflect the opinions of the owners and moderators of OpenSalon.com.

PART ONE: 

As some of you may have noticed, we get hurricanes down here in Florida every once in awhile. Several years ago, some boards got wet on our eaves. We patched it up, but being the lazy homeowners we are, the wood was soft and the squirrels invaded.

We heard them the first time in the playroom, a converted garage with a drop ceiling. The tell-tale skittering would cause the children to come running out, “There’s something in the ceiling!!!”

The children were small and easily manipulated. “That’s just the turkey-bird that lives on the roof,” Inventive Father would tell them. It would not do for the children to know that our happy home was now a mortgaged Habitrail.

The years went by. The squirrels appropriated our attic as their condo. We patched the eave screens repeatedly, even going so far as to patch over the gnawed boards with screening. We half-heartedly put out rat poison. I didn’t want to kill the little squirrels.

PART TWO: 

Last weekend, my husband Phoenix (hereby dubbed “The Executioner”) decided enough was enough. Sunday morning, he patched up all the holes in the house with extra strength wire mesh. He left the most popular thoroughfare open, then put “bait bits” (industrial strength rat poison with some sort of scent on it that mimics food) up in the attic.

He explained to me that the squirrels would eat the poison, their stomachs would begin to burn and they would venture out from their attic home in search of water. Once they were all out, he would put the final piece of mesh on. The house would then be “squirrel free”. I reluctantly agreed.

Around dinnertime on Sunday, Phoenix declared the attic evacuated. No squirrely sounds were going on over my bathroom for the first time in years. I was encouraged. Phoenix patched the final hole. We waited.

We heard no squirreling up above on Monday. Tuesday afternoon, I was dismayed to hear the pitter-patter of little claws as I tried to read in my comfy chair. I thought perhaps a squirrel had chewed through the considerable defenses.

I consulted The Executioner when he arrived home: “There are no holes chewed through. He must have stayed up there hiding this whole time.”

Now, this disturbed me. Here was one extremely intelligent squirrel. He not only survived the little squirrel death bait, he had evaded detection for over 24 hours by laying low. This was a formidable opponent. This was MacGyver squirrel.

The Executioner said, “We’ll wait him out. He’s stuck up there and there’s nothing to eat but the poison. We’ll wait a few days and then I’ll go look for the body.”

I was not pleased. Wednesday morning I heard an awful sound while taking a bath. In the ceiling overhead, a drama played out. I thought I heard the most desperate scratching and chattering. Then… a sickening thud. The squirrel had made a last ditch effort to claw his way out, then fell over dead, or so I thought. Little did I know, Mr. Squirrel is a Method actor. The sounds I heard were simply a radio play meant to lull me into a false sense of squirrellessness.

PART THREE: 

Yesterday afternoon, while ensconced on the back porch wondering what was in a very different Squirrel’s crock pot that day, I greeted my friend Savannah. She is storing some furniture in our playroom. She came out, sat down and said, “Did you know there’s a squirrel in the playroom?” Just casually like that, like, “Did you know there’s going to be rain tonight?” I was displeased.

I called The Executioner. (Expletives have been deleted to protect the guilty)

Me:“The squirrel is in the playroom.”

The Executioner: “Well, that’s a good sign. It means the holes are sealed up. I’ll put some bait in the ceiling there when I get home.”

Me: “No, the squirrel is not in the ceiling. It is sitting on top of the Playstation.”

The Executioner (finally grasping the gravity of the situation): “I’ll be home in a half hour. Close the door. Don’t let him out.”

As if my plan was to go open the door and invite the squirrel in for tea and sympathy.

I decided the best course of action involved not telling my ten year old boy and eleven year old girl that there was a squirrel in the playroom. I told them it was time to read quietly in their rooms. After The Executioner got home, it was time to take my daughter to scouts. I took my son along. If there was to be carnage, I did not want them to be home when it happened. I’m charitable and cautious that way.

When I got home, I quietly pulled The Executioner to the side, “Is it gone?”

The Executioner: “Yes.”

Me: “Did you have to kill it?”

The Executioner: “No. He left of his own accord.”

Me: “How did that happen?”

The Executioner: “Well, I went inside, opened the window and removed the screen. Then I picked up the four foot long CD tower. I gestured at the squirrel with the tower. Then he became concerned. In his haste to flee from my wrath, he fell out the window. I replaced the screen. When I last saw him, he was sitting on the air conditioning unit.”

And thus, the squirrel has left our attic and our lives.

Until he can finish chewing through the new screen.