Thank you Mother/Father/God, IT'S OVER
Now that it's OVER, I can tell y'all about the ordeal I've been going through the last few days. I didn't want to discuss it and get everyone stirred up, but now I can.
It started around Monday. I kept hearing a cat meowing. I thought it was outside my bathroom, no big deal. Cats love my yard, and as long as it's JUST naging around my yard, I really don't care, although we all know Fluffy is NOT a cat person.
As Tuesday rolled around, and I kept hearing this mewing, I went outside to take a look, and saw nothing. Nothing in the yard, nothing in the tree...but I could hear it---and my roof needs some holes repaired.
See where this is going?
Uh-huh. It had gotten under the eaves and managed to work its way inside the walls. There was only one way for that to happen---my two bathrooms are back-to-back, and there's a gap between them so the pipes will fit.
I could hear it behind the sink. Jason the Yard Guy was coming to mow on Wednesday, and I reckoned he could help me get the damned thing out. Don't look at me like that: I haven't had a decent night's sleep in five days. They call it caterwaling for a reason.
Jason came out, couldn't see it, because it was between the walls, doncha know, and surmised, because I'd also heard it behind the stove.... Okay, let me digress briefly for an architectural tour of Chez Fluffy. As I mentioned, the bathrooms are back-too-back. On the other side of the hall bath is the kitchen. Spanning the hall bath, which is somewhat larger than the master bath, is a standard cast-iron tub, circa 1958. Jason theorized that the beast was using the curved tunnel of the tub to migrate between the space behind my sink and the space beside my stove (which backs up to the hall bath).
He promised to come back with a humane trap the next day. Thursday. Except the Universe laughs when we make plans; his drainfield imploded, and he's been working on it ever since.
Meanwhile, the screaming banshee started in every time I used the toilet, every time I rolled over in bed---constantly. I wanted to wrestle this cougar down and twist its head off. I tried telling myself, "Oh, the poor thing is probably scared to death!", but honestly, after the first couple days and nights of sleep-deprivation, I didn't care.
Now, while I wanted to end it, I certainly didn't want it dying behind the wall. The occasional mouse is bad enough. And I know that dying of hunger takes longer than dying of thirst. So I did a little MacGyvering. There are chrome rings covering the holes where the water pipes from the sink taps go into the wall, and one of them is loose.
Using a funnel, two straws and some duct tape, I fashioned a spout I could use to pour water into
the gap between the walls. My compliments to whoever put that wall up---I've poured at last a gallon in there, and not had it leak.
Jason is still busy with his own woes, but he sent a friend of his to help me out. He dragged the stove away from the wall, confirmed that there is indeed access to the bathtub from the space behind the stove, and we could both hear Cat Kong.
I surrendered a car of tuna and dug out a little battery-operated fan to waft the succulent aroma in its direction. Jason's friend is more of a cat person than I am. He sweet-talked it to the open can and snagged it.
This ferocious beast, this mountain lion, Cat Kong...might weigh all of a pound, and half of that would be fuzz. It was TINY. HOW could anything that small make so much noise for so long?!
I gave Jason's friend a $10 bill I'd intended for the collection plate. He earned it. The Universe will understand. He took the wee beastie with him, in a box, with the rest of the tuna. As it departed, it was eating with single-minded determination, punctuated with little grunts. It was absolutely adorable, and I've never been so glad to wave good-bye as I was to that box!
I'm really glad I didn't have to take a baseball bat to the wall, which was my back-up plan.
Now I'm going to catch a nap before heading over to J's this evening. Sweet, silent night!
.
It started around Monday. I kept hearing a cat meowing. I thought it was outside my bathroom, no big deal. Cats love my yard, and as long as it's JUST naging around my yard, I really don't care, although we all know Fluffy is NOT a cat person.
As Tuesday rolled around, and I kept hearing this mewing, I went outside to take a look, and saw nothing. Nothing in the yard, nothing in the tree...but I could hear it---and my roof needs some holes repaired.
See where this is going?
Uh-huh. It had gotten under the eaves and managed to work its way inside the walls. There was only one way for that to happen---my two bathrooms are back-to-back, and there's a gap between them so the pipes will fit.
I could hear it behind the sink. Jason the Yard Guy was coming to mow on Wednesday, and I reckoned he could help me get the damned thing out. Don't look at me like that: I haven't had a decent night's sleep in five days. They call it caterwaling for a reason.
Jason came out, couldn't see it, because it was between the walls, doncha know, and surmised, because I'd also heard it behind the stove.... Okay, let me digress briefly for an architectural tour of Chez Fluffy. As I mentioned, the bathrooms are back-too-back. On the other side of the hall bath is the kitchen. Spanning the hall bath, which is somewhat larger than the master bath, is a standard cast-iron tub, circa 1958. Jason theorized that the beast was using the curved tunnel of the tub to migrate between the space behind my sink and the space beside my stove (which backs up to the hall bath).
He promised to come back with a humane trap the next day. Thursday. Except the Universe laughs when we make plans; his drainfield imploded, and he's been working on it ever since.
Meanwhile, the screaming banshee started in every time I used the toilet, every time I rolled over in bed---constantly. I wanted to wrestle this cougar down and twist its head off. I tried telling myself, "Oh, the poor thing is probably scared to death!", but honestly, after the first couple days and nights of sleep-deprivation, I didn't care.
Now, while I wanted to end it, I certainly didn't want it dying behind the wall. The occasional mouse is bad enough. And I know that dying of hunger takes longer than dying of thirst. So I did a little MacGyvering. There are chrome rings covering the holes where the water pipes from the sink taps go into the wall, and one of them is loose.
Using a funnel, two straws and some duct tape, I fashioned a spout I could use to pour water into
the gap between the walls. My compliments to whoever put that wall up---I've poured at last a gallon in there, and not had it leak.
Jason is still busy with his own woes, but he sent a friend of his to help me out. He dragged the stove away from the wall, confirmed that there is indeed access to the bathtub from the space behind the stove, and we could both hear Cat Kong.
I surrendered a car of tuna and dug out a little battery-operated fan to waft the succulent aroma in its direction. Jason's friend is more of a cat person than I am. He sweet-talked it to the open can and snagged it.
This ferocious beast, this mountain lion, Cat Kong...might weigh all of a pound, and half of that would be fuzz. It was TINY. HOW could anything that small make so much noise for so long?!
I gave Jason's friend a $10 bill I'd intended for the collection plate. He earned it. The Universe will understand. He took the wee beastie with him, in a box, with the rest of the tuna. As it departed, it was eating with single-minded determination, punctuated with little grunts. It was absolutely adorable, and I've never been so glad to wave good-bye as I was to that box!
I'm really glad I didn't have to take a baseball bat to the wall, which was my back-up plan.
Now I'm going to catch a nap before heading over to J's this evening. Sweet, silent night!
.