January 24, 2011
The night we moved into our new house, we heard them. They were having a dance party in our attic.
That's when I knew we were super lucky.
That's also when my husband admitted that he had decided against renewing the pest control bond on the house.
"I am going to get them!" he stated confidently as he retrieved the ladder from the garage and climbed on top of the roof this weekend.
As my husband quickly learned, the task of looking for the squatters was made difficult by not knowing what exactly he was looking for.
"They sound like elephants," I said helpfully.
He spent three hours up on the roof. I comforted him below with encouraging words.
"Please don't fall."
When he came back down, he announced that he had plugged three holes in our sewer drains with mesh wire.
"It's over," he said jubilantly. "They're not coming back."
What my husband failed to consider was that they never left.
As I sit here writing this, I am being serenaded by what sounds like stampeding elephants.
Not good. Not good at all.