Sharon and Jacques’ Excellent Blog

Thanks to everybody who let me know they are actually reading the blog…

Just to catch everybody up:

1. There is a critter of unknown species in the roof
2. It has been boarded up once already since I thought it had gone hunting
3. It was raining and the mosquitoes were keen on lightening my blood supply by a litre or two
4. We had decided to lure the critter out with a can of cat food
5. Sharon has a beer in hand
6. We had established that Sharon can’t keep still or quiet for more than 5 minutes at a time. Your personal mileage may vary, I personally think 5 minutes is extremely aggressive
7. Sharon had a beer in hand. Apparently I didn’t stress this enough in the last saga. It’s not like Sharon spends a great deal of time working around with a beer in her hand so I don’t get what the big deal is about but I said I would emphasize that she had a beer hand. You all got that? Sharon has a beer in hand. Please email her personally for the brand just to show that you are paying attention.
8. After 3 aborted attempts at waiting quietly, we had decided to leave for the night with the boards intact and a broom in front of the boards. The thinking was that the critter would push open the boards which would fall onto the broom which would make a banging sound on the roof. Sharon and I could rush up and nail the boards back. Problem solved.

I gingerly went down the ladder convinced it was going to fall over and cause me grievous bodily injury. Sharon scampered down the ladder (please see previous story for notes on simian ancestry although I’m more inclined to go with lizard due to her ability to withstand temperatures that cause mortal men, (me, to melt) and we went inside. We watched TV for a while a while longer but all was quiet on the critter front.

Oh, about the ladder thing. Tony, the contractor neighbour, fell off his ladder and broke his pelvis. Had to spent 6 weeks in bed and couldn’t get up. Brings the movie Misery to mind for some reason, yet another reason why I’m not crazy about going up and down ladders.

We woke up refreshed after a good night’s sleep aided by the fact that we had a sure-fire plan for ridding ourselves of the critter. After the morning rituals, which shall remain undetailed to protect those of delicate sensibilities, we decided a visit to the roof was in order. We climbed the ladder, Sharon without a beer in her hand for a change.

As I peered over the roof I noticed that the can of cat food was upside down, a board was missing from the wall and the broom was 100% upright. So much for my sure-fire plan. At least I knew that the critter was about 10cm across as it could get out through a single board. That made me feel much better as we weren’t dealing with a raccoon of Darth Vadar-esque proportions. Only problem was that we were back to square one. Didn’t know the species or location of said critter and it was highly likely he was back on the roof.

We both climbed onto the roof and looked around.

“You think he’s in the roof?” Sharon asked hopeful that the ordeal might be over.

“I’m pretty sure that he would be in the during the day. Most critters are nocturnal and he has likely made his den in the roof.”

“Well how are we going to get him out then Mr. Smarty Pants?” perhaps in reference to the snooty tone in my voice.

No sure where the smarty pants comment came from but since the raccoon was still in the same location as last night, I decided to be happy rather than right and didn’t rise to the bait.

“We need to get a trap. We can rent or buy one” I replied

For once Sharon didn’t argue and just nodded sagely.

Have you ever noticed that the majority of times, when something bad is in your roof, it’s almost always referred to as a male even though there is a 50/50 chance it’s a female. I wonder why that is?

We climbed off the roof deep in thought as to where we could get a trap. I knew they were expensive to buy and didn’t think we were going to use it again (I am naively optimistic that our house is well sealed against critters) so we had to rent it. Stephenson Rentals apparently rented them.

Sharon and I had dinner plans with our friends, Ian and Jen, so I decided to give them a call to confirm. Ian loves to hear about my suffering about home ownership so I gave him the short version. As it turned out, he owned a trap because he had a very similar problem. In fact, as it turns out, several of our friends have traps. My current hero, Gordy (Sharon’s gay husband for those that don’t keep up), has managed to trap 7 raccoons, 4 possums, 2 squirrels and 1 cat. He was a bit sheepish about the cat as it belonged to somebody in the neighbourhood. He was keeping the trap out because he was convinced that something was eating his water lilies. I personally think he just likes trapping stuff.

Ian said they would bring it with them and we could borrow it for as long as we needed. We met them for dinner at Oyster Boys, as a I recall, ate some fine oysters, took the trap from them and headed home.

When we arrived home it was about 11:00 PM, pitch dark. I was feeling a little wobbly due to the several bottles of fine wine consumed along with the oysters and lobsters and was looking forward to jumping Sharon and falling asleep. Sharon, of course, had other ideas.

She would brook no possibility of jumping until the trap was deployed. To my alcohol soaked brain, this seemed like a fair exchange. I went to the kitchen, picked another can of cat food not feeling the slightest bit guilty of taking food from Keiko our grey and white cat. I figured what she didn’t eat meant one less can of food she could throw up in great places like on my chair, on the bed, in her basket. I am also the designated cleaner of all things unsavoury so I didn’t even give it a moment’s thought.

Armed with a flashlight (it was pitch black and I could shine it up… oops wrong story), can of cat food, raccoon trap with Sharon in tow, I somehow managed to scale the ladder and arrive in one piece. I can safely say I don’t recall how I managed this feat but I’m glad that alcohol was involved otherwise I would have been s***t scared going up the ladder that laddened.

Sharon climbed onto the roof as well, looking very fetching in an evening dress. A guy can hope… I tried fumbling around with setting the trap but it appeared all I was good for was opening the can of cat food. Sharon grabbed the can of cat food and placed it in the correct location in the trap. We placed the trap about 1m outside the boards hoping that the critter was getting a taste for cat food.

Both pleased with our activities, I decided now would be a good time to get my jumping reward for setting the trap. A firm rebuke and some physical pain later, I was carefully working my way down the ladder. I discovered that climbing down a ladder cooled the ardour I was feeling so we had a quiet and uneventful night.

Sharon is not known as a graceful riser, doesn’t like getting out of bed early and has been known to be a tad bitchy in the morning. I, on the other, wake up full of energy and ready to take on the world. I was fast asleep dreaming of something really good when I felt this bouncing up and down on the bed followed by what felt like a piece of string being dragged over my chest followed by an enthusiastic cat chasing said piece of string. I cracked open an eye to find Sharon wide awake and encouraging the cat to walk all over me by throwing a piece of string over me then pulling it back trigger that cat’s play reflex.

As my faculties came back on-line, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t drink nearly enough water last night and was feeling quite hungover and very dehydrated. The blood supply in my eye also seemed to be pulsing so that my vision got brighter and dimmer and it was contributing to my overall feeling of nausea. The cat running across my mid-section wasn’t helping matters either.

Sharon, seeing that her efforts to wake me up were having an effect, redoubled the bouncing on the bed. The next thing I know Sharon had launched herself on top of me, almost squashing the cat and definitely knocking the air out of me.

“Good morning sunshine. About time you woke up your lazy head.” She exclaimed full of energy.

I tried to extricate my face from the barrage of kisses being bestowed on it so that I could glance at the bed side clock. It was barely 6AM.

“Getrrr off me” I managed to get out. “Its 6AM on Sunday for God’s sake. What’s gotten into you? And stop bouncing around, you’re killing me and my hangover.”

“Well look who’s mister poopy pants. What’s the matter drink a little too much last night?” Sharon asked very loudly in my face but the volume could have been subjective due to my very delicate nature.

“We have to go check the trap and see what we caught” Sharon continued in between kisses and hugs.

I reached deep into myself for that last well of strength and with a mighty heave tried to get Sharon off me. Apparently my reserve of strength wasn’t what I thought it to be because Sharon barely noticed.

“Stop squirming. I’ll get off you if you promise to get up and check the trap” Sharon bargained.

“Ok”. At this point, I would have agreed to anything.

Sharon rolled off and onto her side of the bed where the cat had decided to settle down and was none too impressed with all the bedroom antics so early in the morning.

I decided to risk opening both eyes and was rewarded with a flood of blinding light that seemed to compress the time between the throbs of my head. I moaned gently which was rewarded with a tickle spurring me to get out of bed.

I climbed out of bed and tested my legs. After a few moments of balance adjustment, I staggered off to the bathroom. A few minutes later, there was faint glimmer of humanity entering my system. I dressed and headed out the door to check the trap. Sharon bounced after me like the proverbial Tigger.

Rung-over-rung I ascended the ladder. I made a point of looking squarely forward knowing that my delicate constitution would not handle looking. I also knew that retching all over Sharon wouldn’t shorten my life span considerably and despite my current state, I quite enjoyed life.

My head crested the roof so that just my eyes were above the roofline. I could hear something moving around on the roof. In the roof was a smallish raccoon, probably born earlier in the spring from all that death screaming that passes as mating for them.

“We caught a raccoon”, I rasped out, my throat still feeling the aftereffects of the evening.

“Let me see!!!!!”, Sharon said all enthusiastic. Her enthusiasm was starting to get on my nerves.

I climbed up and over the roof and Sharon barreled up onto the roof and approached the cage.

“What are we going to do with him? Isn’t he cute? Can we keep him? Do you think it’s the critter from the roof? He’s so cute. Can I pet him?”

“Don’t pet him unless you want get bitten. I’m sure he’s pissed about being caught in the cage. There is no chance we are adding another pet to the collection of pissers and shitters we currently have since I have to clean up all the mess and feed them. Should you wish to take over, you can have as many pets as you want.”

This was my standard line for dealing with Sharon when she gets small animal ownership lust in her eyes. I waited for the thought of having to wipe up puke and shit to work its magic on Sharon and I could see her enthusiasm wane just slightly.

“Well what are we going to do with him?” Sharon asked, clearly disappointed that I didn’t see the pet value of the raccoon.

“We are going to board up his hole, then release him back into the garden. I don’t care what he does as long as it doesn’t involve garbage and my car or nesting in the roof.”

Sharon, all full of vim and vigour, took the hammer and nails we had left up on the roof from the previous night and set into the nails. With each determined swing of the hammer and subsequent impact, mostly on the nails, my head throbbed sending a combination of vibrating pain and nausea radiating down my still frail body.

“Can you do that any louder?” I asked

“You mean like this?” As Sharon swung, missed and hit the board which caused the entire roof to drum like a demon possessed bell that was tuned to my exact pain frequency.

Blissfully, Sharon finished nailing up the board a few minutes later. Once my head settled down a bit, we were faced with how to get the raccoon and the cage down to the ground. I was thinking of just throwing the cage and contents onto the ground and letting the raccoons fall where they may but Sharon wanted no part of that as apparently she was still holding out on adopting the cute garbage raider.

I was deep in thought trying to figure out a way to get the raccoon down when Sharon swarmed down the ladder shouting something intelligible. I think the gist was that she had an idea of how to get the raccoon down. A couple of minutes later Sharon appeared carrying an extension cord.

“Catch”, she yelled, swinging the extension cord with its large bulbous end in widening orange circles.

When she had determined the right time to let go, the extension cord came flying towards my head. As time fortunately slowed down, I played the scenario of me getting hit in the head. I quickly moved my head out of the way. I’m pretty sure that I did feel the extension cord parting my hair.

“You’re supposed to catch it, not run away from it”, Sharon yelled from downstairs.

I flailed around for a bit but did manage to grab onto the extension cord and hold it wondering what Sharon intended to do with it. Sharon came up the ladder onto the roof and grabbed the end of the extension cord that I was holding.

“What are you going to do with that? There’s no power up here you know”, pointing out what I felt was an obvious fact.

“I’m going to tie the extension cord to the cage and lower the raccoon down to you.”

I was impressed, it was a good idea and lacked any component of me having to touch the raccoon and risk life and limb. I climbed down the ladder, still moving a little slower than normal.

Sharon tied the raccoon trap onto the end of the extension cord and jerked the trap up with the cord testing it to make sure that the knot held. The trap tilted at a crazy angle but the knot held. Unluckily for Sharon, the raccoon did not.

Having his world tilted at a 70 degree angle brought out the raccoons defensive instinct and when they have nothing else to do, they void their bladders. In gentler terms, the raccoon peed itself vigourously. The pee then gushed out the cage in a torrent and cascaded like a sparkling yellow waterfall right onto Sharon’s sandaled foot.

“M********a just peed on my foot”, Sharon yelled out while doing a one footed hop trying to get the pee off her foot while holding the raccoon still at a precarious angle.

“Can I suggest holding the cage straight? Perhaps if it feels that its not about to die, it would be less inclined to pee all over your foot?”

Sharon glowered at me but did straighten the cage and the waterfall of pee slowed down to a fee drops her and there. Sharon carried the cage over to the side, rested it against the ladder then started playing out the extension cord. The cage was sliding down the ladder quite effectively. The raccoon didn’t think so and was running back and forth in the cage then finally stopped and took another mighty pee again thinking it was about to die.

I took a few rapid steps back as really didn’t feel that a raccoon pee shower would improve the quality of my day, dismal as it had been so far. Sharon, her arms clearly fatiguing, suddenly let the extension cord slip a bit and the raccoon feel about 2m and was even less impressed than before. A few seconds later, the raccoon was down on the ground.

I was having no part of touching the cage having been bitten but a variety of mammals (including Sharon) and not enjoying any aspect of the experience. Sharon came over the roof and started down the ladder. About a third of the way down, I heard more unladylike language, something about the raccoon peeing again and the pee was all over the rungs of the ladder.

Sharon made it to the ground, a bit more urine soaked than she was originally. She disappeared towards the garden hose and was vigourously spraying her foot and hand trying to get rid of the majority of raccoon piss. After 5 minutes of spraying, she was satisfied that she was presentable and the garden was much happier for the free watering.

The raccoon had calmed down a bit but was still not real keen on its current situation. It eyed us suspiciously from behind its bandit’s mask, wondering what the next indignity was going to be.

“What are we going to do with it now?” I asked hoping that we could just release the beast and I could return back to bed and try and get a few more minutes of blissful shutdown and hope that the hangover would go away.

“We could keep it. The cats need a new play friend.” Sharon said, still doggedly pushing the raccoon as a pet agenda.

“Excellent idea as long as you clean up the cat parts when it attacks the cats and rips them apart.”

I got another withering stare for being the calm voice of reason.

“Let’s take it to the marsh and release it”, Sharon said.

“I’m not putting that pee machine in my car. Are you going to drive it in your car?”

I could see that Sharon was a bit torn but in the end her aversion to icky stuff won out and that idea was abandoned.

“Let’s just release him here” I said. “He will be happy in the garden and I’m sure that he can find another place to nest along with all his brothers and sisters.”

I gingerly picked up the raccoon and quickly titled the cage so that if he did decide to pee again, the pee would run out the back of the cage and not onto my foot or leg. We walked to the end of the drive way and set the raccoon down.

“Do you know how to open these traps?” I asked

“No idea, what about you?” Sharon replied

“Never done it before, you set it in the first place, just do the reverse and let it go”

While we were arguing the finer points of raccoon release, Tony, our neighbour from across the road came out of his house. Seeing us standing their with a raccoon in a cage must have peaked his interested because he strolled over to us.

“See that you’ve caught yourself a raccoon.” He said, eyeing the raccoon with a slightly evil look in his eye.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“We just finished trapping it from the roof where your contractor left a gap in the boards and were about to release him but we can’t figure out how to open the trap.” I said

“Here?!?” he exclaimed not quite trusting his hearing that we would go to the trouble of catching a raccoon then releasing it in the same place.

“Yes. I just wanted him out of the roof”, I don’t mind having them around.

There was a gargling sound coming from Tony as he tried to vocalize his feelings on the subject but not being able to get the words out and not completely offend Sharon with his colourful language.

“Why don’t you leave the cage with me and I’ll deal with it?” he offered up eyeing the bridge at the end of our property.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked since Sharon was remarkably mute this whole time staring at the raccoon with doe eyes not doubt in some elaborate fantasy of the raccoon and cats frolicking playfully around the house.

“I was thinking I could lower the cage and the raccoon into the river over there for a few minutes, to you know, wash him off.” Tony replied the glow back in his eyes. Clearly Tony had a few issues of his own with raccoons.

I wasn’t about to enable the “washing” of the raccoon and so politely declined his offer.

“How do you get these open?” I asked Tony again

“Like this” as he reached over and flipped something.

The raccoon realizing it was free hissed at Sharon and took off into the garden.

We chatted with Tony for a while longer then went back into the house. I was given the job of rinsing the cage for raccoon piss (of course) while Sharon decided that a shower was in order.

Just then, there was an ear piercing curdle and the sounds of cats mating. Seems like our raccoon had found himself a new friend.

Author’s Note: I started writing a short blog about a raccoon but soon discovered to get the full story meant laying the ground work with a few other stories.

Chapter 1 – The Yin and Yang of Forest Living

Sharon and I are fortunate enough to live on the edge of a forest in Mississauga in a concrete house with a mid-century modern design (think Falling Water only smaller). There is nothing traditional about the house or our garden. The garden is a wild garden (my neighbour really, really likes this as he has a manicured lawn he trims with toe nail clippers) and in the summer is wild and overgrown. Vines cover the walls on the house and when we look out the windows, all we see is trees and green. As a result of the wildness and the area that we will live, plus 4 birdfeeders, there is no shortage of birds and other critters. To date we have seen deer, fox, raccoons, coyote, opossum, endless wild cats and a large list of birds being eaten by the cats.

Raccoons have been a constant problem. The most common problem is raccoons having sex outside our bedroom window which sounds like cats fighting on a blackboard and is pretty much guaranteed to wake the dead. On more than one occasion, I have been roused from sleep scared fecal-less and in a sweat due to their howling screams of pleasure. Fortunately this appears to be constrained to the spring and, for a while, there are cute raccoon babies hiding in trees and digging for worms under the feeders.

Chapter 2 – Racoons 1, Jacques 0

The house has a separate garage that is not connected to the house. I store the garbage in the garage like most people and thought that the arrangement was quite good. Apparently, so did the local family of raccoons, who would climb into the garage through the overhang, into the rafters then into the garbage.

I’m sure many of you know the joy of finding overturned garbage cans when you are supposed to be going to work. Nothing like sloppy half rotten garbage with a fine bouquet first thing to really start Monday off right.

Being a live and let live kind of homeowner, I tolerated this for a while but the last straw came after I had my car detailed. I do this when I get the urge to buy a new car and it saves me about $50k per episode so I think it’s great value, highly recommended.

I drove back from the dealer who did the detailing with my car gleaming and polished and parked in the garage. Next morning, I went to drive to work and walked into the garage and was dumbstruck and pissed off by what I found.

Those f***** miserable excuses for natures’ garbage collectors had been into the garbage. They weren’t happy enough with pushing the cans over and foraging in the spillage. My bright, extremely clean, freshly detailed lovely to drive car, is parked with its hood very close the garbage cans. The raccoons must have held a council of garbage eating and decided that the best strategy for optimum enjoyment of the garbage du jour was to:

1. Toss the lid off as far away as possible
2. Rock the garbage can so that it falls onto the hood of my pristine and virginal car
3. Climb into the can and dig like a Tasmanian devil shooting garbage all over the hood and windscreen
4. Invite all their closest friends and relatives to dine on Chez Jacques car
5. Eat then s***t all over the car and if possible walk around in it to ensure that the muck is evenly spread as much possible
6. Repeat the following night
7. For extra points, find something really fishy and stuff it down the air intake so that the owner of said car can truly appreciate their fine work

To put it mildly I was livid, furious, rabid. This meant war. Sharon frowned on my shooting things and besides my pellet gun wouldn’t even penetrate their goop covered fur and I would have to sit out and wait for the bastards and provide fresh food for the mosquitoes. Bad plan.

Attacking them with a large broom or spear was also very appealing but there was always the possibility they would fight back and I dislike running away like a girl from animals. They think they own you after that. Also a bad plan.

The logical but dull thing to do was to get the overhangs sealed so the little masked *(&(#*#(#!!@# couldn’t get in. This meant construction, which meant that Home Reno Girl (aka Sharon and her pink tool belt) would have to be engaged. Feeling pleased that I had a solution, I got into my car and drove off.

In regards to point 7 above, they managed over and above the call of duty. Not 2 minutes into my trip, I was blown over with a smell that almost defies description. Think of fishy decomp with just a hint of raccoon fecal material heated by a rapidly warming engine block being blasted on the wings of an AC system trying to cool the car and you start to get the merest sliver of what it was like.

I arrived at work smelling a little less fresh than I normally do. One pleasant side effect was that all my meetings in confined areas were short and to the point and the endless line of people that usually need to talk to me was conspicuously absent. Smell, ummm I mean, word travels fast.

Chapter 3 – The Solution

When Home Reno Girl (HRG) is called into service, the first order of business is to call her father. HRG’s idea of a fun day is working with a tool belt (pink), beating things with a hammer (really small, in fact so small it bounces off nails and gets it nailed done by a professional) and hanging with her dad. It works really well for me too, because I can then go off and pursue my idea of a perfect day which usually involves swamps or sewage lagoons.

Chapter 1 – The Original Encounter (if you don’t get the numbering, please watch more Star Wars)

Sharon’s father, Charles, is no stranger to raccoon problems of his own. When Sharon took me to meet the parents for the first time, we were sitting at the dining room table in the special occasion dining room with special occasion crystal and the once-in-a-lifetime china reserved for the potential father of their grand children making polite conversation.

Sharon’s parents were applying their axe murderer detection tests on me and I could feel that while the war wasn’t won, I was making steady progress in the right direction. Sharon had previously pointed out that her parents were heavily involved in the Roman Catholic church. As far as I could understand (as a good non-practicing Jewish agnostic), her father was some 9^th dan Christian ninja, an honest-to-goodness Knight of Columbus.

My past experiences with very religious people hadn’t gone that well. Apparently my dripping sarcasm about organized religion set off their conversion reflex which meant I was endlessly harassed as they tried to save my soul.

So far, there was no mention that my soul was in any danger and I thought dinner was going rather well. I hadn’t swore, said anything really rude and Sharon still looked like she wanted to leave with me. I had managed to skip over the non-essential parts of our budding relationship such as living together in wonderful sin (it was still early in the relationship), divorced, and being somewhat Jewish and not religious at all. Sharon had drilled me relentlessly about what to say on the way over to the point that I felt like a NASA trained monkey. As long as I stayed sober, I was a shoe-in.

As I politely sipped tea from a very fine (and barely used) china tea cup with my little finger extended in exactly the right position for impressing parents, I couldn’t help notice a repeated sound which sounded like a bird call. I listened a little closer and lo and behold, it was a bird call that I had never heard before.

A small diversion is necessary to explain. I’m just a bit obsessive about things (ignore everything Sharon says on this subject, she’s biased and happens to benefit mightily as she is one of my obsessions) and bird watching happens to fall into this obsessive categories. Naturally it’s not enough to be able to identify the birds by seeing them through high-tech binoculars, made famous by George Bush who had the good fortune to look through them the wrong way, I also knew most of their songs.

There are very, very, very few birds that would be calling in Mississauga that I had never heard before. My problem was to how to extricate myself from the polite conversation so that I could track down said bird but still convince her parents I wasn’t a stark raving loon.

The sound was quite loud and it kept repeating. Sharon’s mother, Carmen, looked a bit perturbed about the sounds and asked if anybody knew what they were. I preened a bit and said that I was quite knowledgeable about bird calls and this wasn’t a bird that I heard before but perhaps if I saw it, I would be able to identify it.

As one, we rose from the table, and moved over the virginal living room rug to the spotless large plate glass window and gazed out into the perfect lawn and garden. I tried to identify where the sound was coming from and so stood dead still something akin to a pointer dog. My razor sharp hearing (at least it was then) said that the sound was actually come from behind and to the right of me. That would place it squarely in the living room ceiling. I rotated a bit to confirm that the sound was coming from inside the house and listened a little more closely.

Sure enough, the sound was coming from the edge of the ceiling and I could hear a faint scratching as well. Remember when I said, I hadn’t done or said anything stupid? Well that was about to change due to my sarcastic and occasionally flippant mouth.

Carmen was looking at the ceiling and looking a tad pale.

“Any idea about what it is?” she nervously ask.

As I mentioned, I can be flippant and so I piped up, “Must be rats with all that squeaking and scratching”.

Sharon gave me one of those stares that means no sex for the rest of my life or until I go and visit Michael, the savior of all things bad that men do in marriage, the jeweler. I was at a loss to understand what I had done wrong. I thought over my response and decided that rats was a reasonable possibility given the amount of scrabbling around and the calling.

“Rats??”, Sharon mother asked while the colour blanched from her face faster than a killer avalanche.

I still wasn’t clear what was causing the astonishing lack of colour. I was starting to worry that she might collapse.

Sharon, still giving me the look of death, behind her parents’ backs hissed at me, “My mother has a phobia about rodents. It’s really bad, shut up about the rats or else”.

I am fairly sure there were a few other choice words flung in my direction but thankfully time and much drinking have lightened my exact memory of the words and Sharon and I remain happily married.

“Charlie, we are going to a hotel. NOW. Until this gets resolved. You will cut a hole in the ceiling and deal with… with… those things”, Carmen said, the words forced out by sheer force of will.

Charles joined in with the look of death at me and I was wondering exactly what form of death a Christrian ninja would use in removing freshly introduced boyfriends from the picture.

“Maybe it’s not rats, it could be something else. Maybe a possum or a raccoon” I said trying to smooth over the situation. I felt safe with possum since they were very primitive mammals and definitely not of the rodent family.

It would seem the Carmen’s schooling on rodent family tree was a little more cloudy than mine and when in doubt, she used the old fallback, “if it looks like a rat, it’s a rat” and this did absolutely nothing to calm her down.

Sharon’s colour was darkening about the same pace as her mothers’ was lightening. I was wondering if this transfer of colour was a family thing, close to what chameleons are capable of doing. Carmen, determined to play the perfect host, returned to the table and we followed.

She put on a brave face but it was obvious she was deeply traumatized by the possibility of fauna of unknown provenance in her roof. We finished off our tea and made leaving noises. Her parents gracefully said their goodbyes and we got into the car.

Sharon’s colour had started to return to normal. As the door closed, Sharon said, “Don’t ever mention rats or mice in front of my mother. She will faint or worse. Never, ever again or else”.

Have you noticed that nothing good ever comes from “or else”?

“Right, no more rodents in front of your mother”, I committed to memory.

We stopped by a week later to find out that Charles had to take a chainsaw to the roof and cut a hole large enough for him to get in and look around. Turned it was a raccoon and several babies that had made a very cozy nest in the ceiling insulation. He then spent the next few days trying to get them out and putting chicken wire on all the gaps to ensure that they didn’t get back in.

Carmen was safely ensconced at a fine hotel and vowed to return only when there was an absolute guarantee of no rodents.

Chapter 4 – Back to the Original Story

So, having known Charles’ history with me, raccoons and rats, I was a little bit tentative about having him over to deal with this issue. In the intervening years, I had married his daughter and thought that we had a great relationship but one can never be sure.

Sharon made the call and Charles was over in a shot to help out and spend some time with Sharon. He arrived with bails of chicken wire, a staple gun and other instruments necessary to seal up the garage. I never had the pleasure of seeing a raccoon buffet on the hood of my car again thanks to Charles.

So what does all this have to do with Sharon vs. the raccoon? It helps set the stage for the main story. Way back at the beginning of the story, I mentioned we live in a modern concrete house. Said house, has 3 roofs and we had a problem with leaks for several years and so decided it was time to redo the roofs.

We contacted Tony, our contractor neighbor, who builds incredible houses and asked him to give us a quote. He showed up one evening and looked around, then said he would send over the sidewall guy and the roof guy to prepare estimates.

Chapter 5 – The Portal is Opened

The roof guy came over and pulled away some siding so he could see what was on a support wall for the main roof. For some reason, he left two planks off, just wide enough to provide an excellent entrance for a critter or two.

Tony came over and gave us an estimate of X. Having done renos before with HRG, I prepared myself for at least 2x because, well, something always happens. In this case, Sharon discovered vermin in the roof. Since the apple never falls far away from the tree, Sharon decided we had to rip up the two main roofs and totally redo them. Next time I spoke to her father and mentioned that we had to rip up two roofs due to vermin, I was sure that I could hear a smug smile in this voice but he has never ‘fessed up to anything.

A few days later, Sharon and I were eating dinner watching graphic forensic content on TV. In the CSI soundtrack, playing on my googlephonic stereo, I could hear an animal scratching which seemed a little incongruous to the morgue scene. I figured maybe there was going to do an Alien scene or the pathologist had bought his pet to work which was sharpening its claws on the autopsy table. I decided to ignore it having carefully identified the source, at least in my mind.

Sharon, for some reason, was staring at the ceiling. I started to have a flashback to her mother staring at the ceiling. She pulled the universal remote control (the same one she likes to point upwards) and hit the mute button much to my annoyance as the show was continuing to play. The pause button works really well and I’ve never understood why mute something if you want to continue watching it but that could just be me.

Chapter 6 – You Have A Lovely Ceiling

Silence settled in the living room. It was actually very peaceful once the distracting sound of a bone cutter was muted. Then it started again, the scratching sound from the TV show. This time it seemed to be coming from the roof above and to the left which was an excellent trick because the sound was muted. I was trying to figure out how Sharon had managed to get partial sound of the remote control and was drawing a blank.

Sharon said, “It sounds like there is something in the ceiling. What do you think it is?”

I was thinking rats in my mind but since that didn’t go over too well the last time I tried it, I figured I would plead ignorance. “Not sure”, I mumbled between a bite of food, since there was a pause in the forensic action.

“We should go up and look after dinner. Perhaps we can see what it is”, I said trying to put off critter discovery channel.

We resumed watching CSI and dinner was rapidly dispatched now that there was a hint of adventure in the air. Tony, the contractor, had left a ladder by the side of the house so we could get onto the roof. The front roof is about 3.5m high and so after staggering around with this huge ladder, nearly poking Sharon’s eye out, we got it placed against the wall and proceeded to scale up the wall. I’m not a big fan of ladders. I’m fine going up but coming down doesn’t sit well with me.

We arrived on the roof to find the hole that I had previously mentioned and the boards that used to belong to the wall. Also found a bunch of nails and other construction debris of the type that you don’t want to find on a rubber roof. I imagined engaging in cruel and unusual punishment to the roofing guy to better express the feelings I was having about his professionalism. My shrink says that I need to share my feelings more.

Chapter 7 – Into the Pit

The gap showed a dark and foreboding cavity. It was getting close to dusk and the light wasn’t great. Sharon, feeling the bravery that comes from getting me to the dirty work said, “Stick your head inside and see if you can see what it is”.

I have an extremely vivid imagination. The prospect of kneeling down and sticking my head into a dark cavity inhabited by something from Ontario wilds wasn’t appealing in the slightest. Given the height and location of the roof and access, I narrowed down the possibility of animals to exclude deer, fox and coyote. I felt that I could also safely say it wasn’t a bear as well.

That only left a variety of vermin, raccoons and a bunch of truly vicious critters like mink just waiting for a nice plump head to be stuck into its den.

“What are you waiting for?”, Sharon asked helpfully standing to the side of the hole.

I considered my options. I could say that I didn’t want to stick my head in the hole and face the wrath of and ridicule of Sharon or I could man-up and do it. If I got clawed, I could play up the sympathy aspect for all it was worth. It wouldn’t be that bad.

I knelt down, grabbed the flashlight and pointed it into the gap. The gap went back about 1m and formed a shelf which explained the architectural detail in the living room. The shelf ran the length of the roof about 3-4m. No red eyes gleamed back at me so the critter wasn’t waiting with slavering fangs at the entrance.

I banged on the boards loudly to try and scare whatever was inside and played the flashlight back and forth across the entrance. I stuck my head in and played the flashlight up and down the shelf. There was a variety of crap (literally) on the roofboards and on the shelf so this clearly wasn’t the first critter to be in this area over the years.

I looked to the left and then to the right. The beam of light faded into the distance but I couldn’t see any critter at all. Reasoning that it might have gone foraging at dusk, I pulled my head out and indicated that I couldn’t see anything and that it had likely gone out to forage for food. I also said this would be an excellent time to board up the entrance to stop the offending vermin from returning.

Sharon asked, “Are you sure?”, not quite in synch with my feeling that it had left to eat.

“Of course I am”, I snapped, the adrenaline rush from presenting my head as a vermin snack receding. “Let’s close up the gap and that should do it”.

We picked up hammers and using the conveniently discarded nails, reattached the boards to the wall to block the gap. In the back of my mind, I was playing through the scenarios if it was still inside. If it was inside, it would make a bunch of noise either chewing or trying to get out where we had boarded it up. This would be heard inside the house and we would come up, unboard the hole and the vermin would run for the hills. We made short work of nailing the boards back on and left, feeling quite pleased we had foiled the critter with our superior intelligence.

Chapter 8 – If at First You Don’t Succeed

I wobbled down the ladder and went back inside. Not 10 minutes later, I heard the sound of something throwing itself against the wall in the same place where the gap was. “Scratch, scratch, crump”, was repeated over and over again. I surmised that the scratch, scratch was it building up a head of steam and the crump was the head hitting the extremely well nailed in boards.

It was annoying and was interrupting more graphic forensic content. I was starting to warm to the idea of graphic forensic content and this animal and let me mind drift to the dissections I had done at school as a youth in the wilds of Africa.

Sharon, being the bleeding heart animal rights liberal, was distressed by all this noise not to mention the fact that the animal might bleed into her roof.

“We have to go take the nails off the board otherwise it will hurt itself”, she said.

“Let’s hope that it gives itself a cerebral hematoma and dies and we can just pick up the carcass”, I replied, extremely pleased that I had been able to use my vast CSI knowledge to good use.

“Then it will rot and stink up the whole house and we will have to rip down that roof too”, Sharon retorted, effortlessly slipping back into her HRG role and not appreciating my penetrating use of CSI language.

I’ve found over the years that it’s better to avoid any activity that can result in renos of any form and this sage piece of advice was spinning round and right into my left brain.

“Right”, I said, taking control of the situation. “Let’s go take the boards off”.

Off we went, up the ladder, Sharon with a beer in her hand. Not sure how beer improves hammering, I always used them in the “Let’s get hammered context” so was curious to see how it played out.

In short order, we pulled the nails out of the boards but left the boards in place. I decided that we needed a mechanism to know that the varmint had left so we could board up the gap again. I placed a broom over the gap figuring that it would push the boards out which would push the broom over which would make a crashing sound we could hear in the house. We could then rush up the ladder and board up the gap again. Problem solved.

“How are we going to get it to come out?” Sharon asked.

“It will come out when it’s hungry or when we have cleared out” I responded.

Chapter 9 – Patience is a Virtue

“Maybe we should encourage it to come out?” Sharon offered up.

Making a mental note that Sharon had come up with a good idea, I agreed. I started thinking what would attract a varmint out of a nice dark hole. In a blinding flash of insight, I figured a can of cat food would do it, especially if it was a little on the ripe side.

“We need a can of cat food, that should get it to come out of its hole”, I said

Sharon scampered down the ladder making me wonder if there was any simian in her ancestry while I pondered the missing link. A few moments later she arrived clutching a can of cat food.

I opened the cat food can and placed it about a metre away from the gap and moved towards the ladder.

“Aren’t we going to wait for it to come out so we can board up the hole again? It won’t take long for it to come out again right?” Sharon asked

“If we are really quiet and patient, we can likely wait” figuring we would have to sit deathly still for 15 minutes and the critter would come out.

It was a late summer night and quite muggy and overcast. I also discovered that there were still a few mosquitoes around and they were keen on lightening my blood levels.

Chapter 10 – Strike 1

About 5 minutes into the wait, Sharon, in a stage whisper heard by most of our neighbours, said “It hasn’t left yet and I’m bored. Make it come out.”

I ground my teeth in frustration knowing that we could add more time onto the clock as the critter wouldn’t go anywhere with all the noise “we” were making.

“Shhhh”, I said. “It can hear you and won’t come out unless we are totally quiet”

“Rubbish”, Sharon said. “I can’t hear it so how can it hear us?”

I ground my teeth in frustration. “Be quiet. It’s an animal, it has much better hearing than us and if it didn’t hear us the 1^st time it most certainly has this time. Just wait patiently and don’t say a word.”

Silence prevailed and to my joy, a light drizzle started. Let me recap for those that aren’t paying attention:

1. We are sitting on a roof waiting for a critter to bash down some boards, pushing a broom over in a mad rush to get to the can of cat food we had graciously provided as enticement.
2. I was trying to get Sharon to sit quietly (and still) until the critter came out.
3. It was drizzling.
4. The mosquitoes were circling round me and I could swear that I heard the “Ride of the Valkyrie ” as wing after wing of mosquitoes broke formation to feast on my exposed flesh.
5. Sharon is happily drinking a beer.

Chapter 11 – Strike 2

Another slow 5 minutes drizzled by. “You think it will work, what with the broom and the cat food?”, Sharon whispered again.

I could feel a simmering frustration starting to boil and turned sharply to Sharon eyeing the bottle of beer. I could whack her on the head with it…

“Do you not understand being quiet and sitting still?” I hissed sharply. “Every time you make a noise, it will get frightened and won’t come out and we have to wait longer. In the rain. With the mosquitoes.”

“Well you don’t need to get pissy about it. I’m bored and was just asking, Mr. Snotty Pants”, Sharon retorted back.

“Please try and be quiet and sit still for 15 minutes”, I pleaded.

Chapter 12 – You’re Out

Sharon settled again and I went back to waiting. The minutes dragged by. About 7 minutes later, Sharon started squirming and fidgeting and wagging her leg at such a rate I could feel the vibrations clear to the top of my head. Clearly trying to keep quiet for such a lengthy period was starting to take its toll and manifesting itself in nervous twitches and bouncing legs.

“It’s hopeless, let’s go back in” I said looking sharply at Sharon’s leg as it bounced up and down at at least 60hz.

“What? I’m being quiet, I haven’t said a word for at least half an hour” Sharon said, her voice modulated by the vibrating leg.

“Yes dear”, I said trying to avoid another fruitless conversation and getting just a bit frustrated by the rain and mosquitoes.

“I don’t think it’s coming out tonight, it’s probably a little rattled by banging its head against the boards. If it comes out it will make the broom fall over and we can come back out and close off the hole”, I added trying to get myself back inside where it was warm and dry.

I headed over to the ladder and once assured that Sharon was holding it and wasn’t angry with me, I headed back down hopefully for the last time that evening.

Stay tuned for the next chapter…

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Preface: To make sense of this story, you need a little background. I purchased an iPhone a few weeks ago and have been playing with it non-stop. Sharon, in a fit of marketing genius, rebranded herself iSharon as she felt she was lacking attention. iSharon also had surgery on Friday to fix a problem in her left eye and was forced to wear a patch hence the pirate references.

iSharon and I were hanging around on Sunday watching TV that we had recorded. A terrible thing happened and we ran out of programs we both enjoyed compromising about and could watch together. That means that the TV immediately gets tuned to HGTV as iSharon clutches the remote close to her bosom in case I try and change channel.

iSharon was dozing in and out thanks to the pain meds for her eye. I stealthily took the remote and tried to change the channel. Like a slumbering guard dog woken by somebody encroaching its territory, iSharon was suddenly awake and indignant that I would even consider changing the channel away from the blessed HGTV and all those unwatched shows on home rennos.

As a compromise, I suggested that we go to the movie store and rent a bunch of movies. At least chick flicks are better than home reno shows and in the long run, a lot less costly. Off we went to Blockbuster and arrived in the rain. The rain isn’t material to the story but wanted to add to the generally lazy mood on Sunday.

I went left, iSharon went right at the video store. We have discovered it’s just better to meet at the counter, fight about the picks in one location rather than arguing all the way around the store. The other patrons also seem to appreciate this and I haven’t received a dark glare since the last time I remarked that watching the last great chick flick was akin to boiling the skin off my flesh and then staking me out in the sunshine.

I perused the movies noticing that anything new or worth watching had already been rented and so the pickings were slim. I did notice a few chick flicks such as “He’s really not that into you” and something about Bride Wars but quickly passed those over knowing that they would not miss iSharon’s all encompassing net. I walk the entire wall and found 2 movies worth wasting time, Lycans vs. Vampires (really bad) and Stealth (haven’t watched it yet).

When iSharon and I met up at the counter, iSharon had another 6 movies including Beverly Hills Chihuahua, He’s Really Not That Into You, Dead Like Me, another chick flick and something else I don’t recall. The careful reader will also notice that I can’t count.

Let me return to Beverly Hills Chihuahua. We were told by a close relative of iSharons’, who shall remain nameless while I cook up suitable revenge, that this was the funniest movie he had seen all year. I’m always up for a good funny movie even about dogs. We paid our outrageous rental fee, promised to get them back by Tuesday at noon (the girl’s eyebrow raised at that given the 8 movies) and then proceeded to the grocery store to stock up on “snackies” as iSharon likes to call them.

Sufficiently bolstered by a sack of “snackies” and movies we drove home. I went off to do something which left iSharon to put in the movie. About 5 minutes later as I’m walking back to the living room (iPhone in hand of course) and I hear some distinctly unlady-like language spewing forth from iSharon. In fact, I would have to say iSharon was taking on her pirate role with great enthusiasm given the colourfulness of her language. Her parrot, Keiko (our little grey cat) had left the area being unperched by the scalding stream of language.

“What’s wrong?” I innocently ask watching a woman discuss sulphur eating bacteria on the screen. I was trying to understand how a movie about dogs in Beverly Hills started like this but thought perhaps it was a thriller…

“They put the wrong f****** movie in the case” was iSharon’s sweet reply. iSharon rewound the movie and it turned out it was The Day the Earth Stood Still (not a bad flick actually and I could have happily watched it again vs. muskie bait dogs in 90210 land).

“Mistakes happen” I said, having being guilty of exactly the same thing except that it was *ahem* something a little more spicy that was returned to the video store.

“Pick something else to watch” I yelled from kitchen. “We can tell them they screwed us over and get the right movie”.
iSharon was not happy and proceeded to put another movie in and start it up. A booming soundtrack cut in sounding exactly the Day the Earth Stood Still except for the profanity being hurled at the TV. I walked into the living room with the snackies and drinks. I noticed that the movie still appeared be talking about sulphur eating bacteria, much like the last movie.

“I can’t believe it, they did the same f***** thing again. What’s the matter with those morons?” iSharon asked, pissed off at the world, her blue eye patch radiating a strange light.

I started to engage my brain a little more and it occurred to me that the chances of the same movie ending up in two wrong boxes and both ending up at our home was a little too remote. I immediately suspected that iSharon had done something to the stereo that makes men breathless.

“Where did you put the disk?” I asked.

Before we get to that, I should explain that being a true nerd, our stereo set-up is large but not complicated thanks to a universal remote control. To do anything, you press a single button, point the remote in the general direction of the TV and it does all the switching for you. I think there is a fundamental problem with women’s eyesight because the remote control is always pointed up when they press the activity button. I think their vision creates a phantom double on the ceiling but I digress.

We have a DVD player (where DVD movies go), an Xbox, a Wii and 2 satellite boxes. I had briefly experimented trying to use the Xbox as a DVD player to cut down the jungle of cables that ran behind the TV. Experienced stereo installers, when confronted with the splendor of my setup, have been known to cry and run out screaming “Mommy” for some reason.

“I put it in the slot” iSharon answered just a touch of pissed off in her voice. She looked rather fetching with her blue eyepatch and touch of colour in her cheeks.

“Show me please, which slot?” I asked, as there was more than 1 potential slot. The American Express commercial about the kid with peanut button on fork feeding it into the VCR was playing in my mind.

iSharon walked up to the Wii and pointed at it. “This slot, it sucked up the disk and glowed green and the movie started playing”.

It’s at this point in a man’s life where he must decided to be right or be happy but this was too good an opportunity for a little fun.

“The Wii?” I asked incredulously. We have never used the Wii to play movies. I figured maybe, just maybe, she had put the movie in the Xbox then pressed DVD on the remote and the movie in the DVD player had started.

“Well it’s all so confusing with all these slots and gizmos, how am I supposed to know where to put the DVD?”
“Uhmm, how about the DVD player?” I responded in my best, you are such a technology peasant voice guaranteed not to get me any sex for a week, voice.

“We have a DVD player?” she asked a little confused by the thought of such simplicity in the stereo.

I pointed at the gizmo that said Panasonic DVD player on the front. I went over, stopped it and pulled the disk out, The Day the Earth Stood Still.

The Wii continued to glow green and happy still not playing the movie it had happily consumed. “You put the disk in Wii”, pressed DVD, which played the disk already in the DVD. “You put the 2nd movie in the Wii and it continued playing the movie already in the DVD player”.

I popped Beverly Hills Chihuahua into the DVD and settled down to enjoy a good laugh. It seems the laugh was on me as there was very little funny about the show except dogs dressed up to as humans. If only I could get those 2 hours of my life back.