Shh. Something is in my attic. No joke. I was sitting here, surfing famous authors' blogs working doggedly on my new picture book, when I heard a clatter. "Darn cats," I thought, only to look up and see both of my cats staring up the stairs, ears back and tails straight in the air.
"Mailman," I said aloud. Because saying "mailman" aloud has the power both to calm the cats and to turn whatever it is into the mailman.
But there was no mail. And then I heard the scratching, and the clicking.
I sneaked up the stairs. Halfway up, I had a vision of a gigantic rabid raccoon dropping through the ceiling and onto my head, so I cast about for a weapon. Choices included a sock of Tink's, a ball of cat fur, and the gift bag my sister gave me with three mini lip glosses in it. I went with the lip gloss.
The scratching and clanking was clearly coming from the attic stairs, which drop down into my upstairs hall. I saw the door jiggle, and then I heard a high-pitched decidedly unfriendly squeak. There I was, five inches and a quarter inch thick wooden board away from something seriously big and angry and probably clawed. And I had a paper bag, three 4-inch tubes of PassionFruit Mama, and two seven-pound domesticated Persians to protect me.
I did the only thing I could. I stomped as hard as I could on the floor as I yelled, "AAAAAH! BLAH BLAH BLAH! GO AWAY!" And then I ran as fast as I could down the stairs to call animal control. I'm waiting for them now, hoping they get here before whatever it is figures out the door latch.
I keep thinking, "This is how horror movies start." And, sadly, I am clearly not the heroine, but the expendable character who gets mauled in scene one and then forgotten.
And even given all that, all I can do is wonder: what will the title be?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Where the Wild Thing Is
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4 comments:
You really shouldn't go into scary places empty-handed. I usually take the broom.
I had to move some boxes in our storage area (i.e. the unfinished part of the basement) and something fell on my foot. I screamed bloody murder, but it was only a couple misc. bows from the Xmas crap.
whew!
Oy, I hope this ends well.
I heard clawing and clanking in the closed up fireplace in my bedroom in college once while I was painting a few feet away. The creature began tearing out the separator. I quickly screamed to my roommates (I'm so glad I wasn't alone in the house!). As the creature began to emerge, we saw it was just a bird, so we opened the window for it to fly out. We stood close to the door ready to run if it attacked our heads. When it escaped the fireplace, instead of going through the bottom open part of the window, it slammed into the top glass. Ouch. It lay there stunned for a little while. Eventually, it got out. Crazy bird. Hope yours is only a bird.
I read an article today about a wererabbit loose in Michigan.
He's only claimed five victims, maybe six (the forensics team is still trying to "piece" it all together).
Let us know if you find him. There's a lab somewhere that's missing him terribly.
CW, that sounds so much like something that would happen to me.
Kristi, I can't decide if birds would freak me out more or less than the squirrels.
Candace, I don't care what Animal Control says about squirrels; the wererabbit was definitely up there.
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