Friday, December 9, 2011

Critter Control or..,

"The ornaments of your house will be the guests who frequent it." ~ Author Unknown

HELP ME. I am am writing this blog in the pitch dark, and I am being WATCHED! Two beady eyes stare at me from behind the wall. HELP ME!

You are probably wondering why I would write a blog in such a state of fear,..WHY I DO NOT TURN ON A LIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY?

My terrifying tale started last Spring. Ah, Spring at Chestnut House. Tulips blooming in a riot of colour on the South Lawn. Vintage metal lawn chairs being unwrapped in the giddy frenzy of a new day. Remember, heat had just arrived at our tumble-down manse, and this was a fresh start for us Dandies.

That first blissful week of Spring brought our first non-human house guest to our home. We'll call him Clyde. CLYDE FROM THE BOWELS OF HELL. Clyde was a bat. YES, A BAT. He arrived one evening while we were curled up watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS. (We'll sell anything we own if we see it on that show...well, anything but my Star Wars AtAt!)

A shadow flickered over our head. THEN PANIC ENSUED...DOGS BARKED...TCHOTCHKES WERE DESTROYED. My fear of bats resurfaced, and I had PTSD, imagining myself backstage at Starlight Theatre. "I WILL NOT HAVE FIVE MORE WEEKS OF RABIES SHOTS," I screamed! Two hours, a pile of broken chalkwear, and a ripped vintage fishing net later, and Clyde had been escorted outside, on his merry way to our rejoin his family in our neighbor's belfry.

Clyde must have told his furry woodland friends how accommodating Jon and I had been, how we treat our house guests. Like a twisted opening scene from "Snow White Visits Twin Peaks", The Pinkie Family arrived - AND DECIDED TO STAY. The Pinkies are a family of 4. Four opossums. A mother and her 3 children. We never saw the father, though I imagine, from the looks of his children, he must have resembled Mickey Rooney.

They chose to move in to a cozy spot beneath the front porch, hissing and gnashing their greetings to family and guests alike. Friends offered to catch, kill, (even cook) our humble guests, but we stuck with our philosophy that all are welcome here. Eventually, they left on their own. With the economy the way it is, I am hoping they found a nice sublet in Mission Hills with a view of the golf course.

Now, we begin the Winter Season with the Holidays upon us. Our trees are being decorated, our halls are getting decked, Magnolia leaves are being frosted with antique German glass glitter in various tones of the same colour to sparkle just-so on the hearth...well, you get the Better Home and Gardens picture...

When, with an entrance worthy of National Lampoon, GWEN ARRIVED.

Scampering around us, chirping in her Squirrel voice - "Hey, I found an entrance into Chestnut House you don't know about! Hey, I found another entrance. Hey! Hey! Dare you to find it. Dare you to find it!"

At first, Gwen went unnoticed as Jon and I sipped coffee from our Wedgwood cups, discussing how tall the centerpiece should be at our Christmas soiree.

It was the Schnoodle who introduced us to our newest house guest, With Dorian in full pursuit, Gwen jumped over the coffee table, leapt over the bookcases, scurried up the draperies, through the Master Bedroom, trampolined off of a chase lounge, onto the fireplace mantel, and behind a wall WHERE SHE NOW HIDES IN A HOLE.

So, NOW I SIT IN THE DARK, waiting for her to come out and join me for coffee. (The internet told me to turn off the lights, to let her relax. Relax, Gwen, relax...)

As you arrive this Holiday season, please nod to Ms. Pinkie and her children...I assume, with our luck, they'll be back...then raise a toast to Clyde, Gwen and the rest of their families, residing somewhere within our walls.

Happiest of Holidays...

Ron (and Jon and Dorian)

1 comment:

Cheryl Weaver said...

What I would give to live under the porch at Chestnut House!