Honestly, there are times I could just scream at the uncertainties and the ridiculousness of this so-called serene country life.
All I can say is this... thank goodness that I decided to go upstairs when I did yesterday. All hell was breaking loose up there and who would have known that if I had stayed here in the breakfast room with my book instead of deciding to read in the library.
As I walked up the back stairs from the kitchen, I heard the tinkling sound of a small waterfall. We have a few quaint amenities on the second floor of this hundred-year-old house, but a running waterfall isn't one of them. I followed the sound of the water and discovered that water was slowly pouring out of the ceiling fixture in my husband's office. What on this blessed earth?!?
I can always bet the ranch on this particular fact of my world: when this country life throws me a surprise, my husband is at work and blessedly unaware that I am up here in the hills having to make a split-second decision to either call a repairman or call a realtor.
Before I chose either of those options, I called a nearby neighbor who always seems to know what to do in a plumbing or electrical emergency, as well as a wildlife crisis. He and his wife were here within five minutes, and J quickly went up to the third floor to discover there was a problem with the water heaters up in the attic behind the library. He turned off the water valves, turned off the circuit breakers, and made sure that nothing was either sparking or hissing or threatening to fall through the ceiling and land on top of my husband's computer.
First thing this morning, I called the plumbers. Bless this wonderful company... they were here within half an hour, prepared to replace the water heater and also discover why the water didn't drain out of the over-flow pipe and end up in the flowerbed instead of that light fixture in my husband's office.
And here comes the country ridiculousness part of the story: the water couldn't drain through the overflow pipe because bees had constructed a nest of honeycombs within the pipe protruding from the side of the house.... and their superb construction was so tight and dense that a drop of water couldn't have been released from that pipe if it been shot out of a cannon.
Now honestly.... do you think I could make this stuff up?! Bees. A bunch of blasted bees.
The plumbers were here all day long. We now have a new and larger water heater in the third floor attic which replaces the two smaller water heaters that were previously there. This house used to be a Bed & Breakfast, which is why the previous owners decided to have two water heaters up in that attic space. My husband and I don't plan to rent out rooms.... and friends and family stay in the guest cottage which has its own water heater. (And the new water heater is not directly over a light fixture on the second floor.)
Bees. A bunch of blasted bees.
When the plumbers told me they were on their way this morning, I spread old sheets over the carpeting in my library, which is the room they had to go through to get to the attic space. (Thank heaven for those little doors on both sides of that room.) Out came the old heaters, in went the new one, and the three plumbers were kind enough to walk on the old sheets and not the light beige carpeting. It wasn't until they went to replace the overflow pipe that goes outside the house that they discovered the complex construction of the bees.
It is 6:30 in the evening as I type... the plumbers left at 5:00 or so. After their truck pulled out of the driveway, I cleaned all the floors and vacuumed the carpeting in the rooms where their booted-feet had been walking back and forth all day long. I put the chairs and tables back in place in my library, and the last thing I did was mop the kitchen floor.
The plumbers had asked me to go into each bathroom and run the hot water after they'd been gone for an hour or so, to make sure that hot water was coming out of all the faucets. Well, I did that. Three of the four bathrooms were just fine. But oh my... that fourth one.... black water came out of the sink... and the commode had black water in it, and when I flushed that down, no water came back up to fill the tank. What in the blessed world?!?
I called the plumbing company.... such a nice woman works there... she has the calmest voice which immediately takes one down from "Oh-my-God-the-sky-is-falling!" to "Quite-possibly-I-need-your-assistance."
She's sending the guys back in the morning.
I can barely wait till my husband gets home tonight so I can tell him everything he misses when he decides not to work from home.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Just when you thought the porch was your own....
.... back comes that orange cat. As I type, that blasted cat is taking a nap on the steps by the garage door. He must be tired after his long journey back from the Lake. That's where we dropped him off on March 12th...... today is the 24th, and he was meowing by the back door this morning.
How in the world he found his way back here is beyond me, and I guess this is the thanks I get for doing with that cat what I absolutely detest other people doing. My only justification is that the orange cat gave me no choice. After scores of bites and scratches, I knew that if we brought him to the shelter he'd be put down immediately because of his bad manners. So I thought I was doing a good thing, by giving him another chance in another town. Oh, silly me.
One of our friends up the road has now told me not to re-locate him again. If (when, I hope) we catch him in the carrier again, L suggested that I bring the orange cat to her and she would get him into the animal rescue program that she's affiliated with. L rescues horses, not cats, but she knows that she can get the orange cat into a barn-cat situation way, way far away from here.
So that is now the plan. Once again, the little cat bed is inside the biggest cat-carrier that I have. Hopefully, the orange cat will want to curl up in that little bed, and I can get the door shut on the carrier and off he will go to L and her rescue-people.
If you're wondering.... yes I did feed the orange cat this morning. He was clearly starving, very skinny and tired, and screaming for Meow Mix. What could I do? I just had to feed him after his travels........ good grief.... I still can't believe it.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you glad I'm back and now you have something to write about?
How in the world he found his way back here is beyond me, and I guess this is the thanks I get for doing with that cat what I absolutely detest other people doing. My only justification is that the orange cat gave me no choice. After scores of bites and scratches, I knew that if we brought him to the shelter he'd be put down immediately because of his bad manners. So I thought I was doing a good thing, by giving him another chance in another town. Oh, silly me.
One of our friends up the road has now told me not to re-locate him again. If (when, I hope) we catch him in the carrier again, L suggested that I bring the orange cat to her and she would get him into the animal rescue program that she's affiliated with. L rescues horses, not cats, but she knows that she can get the orange cat into a barn-cat situation way, way far away from here.
So that is now the plan. Once again, the little cat bed is inside the biggest cat-carrier that I have. Hopefully, the orange cat will want to curl up in that little bed, and I can get the door shut on the carrier and off he will go to L and her rescue-people.
If you're wondering.... yes I did feed the orange cat this morning. He was clearly starving, very skinny and tired, and screaming for Meow Mix. What could I do? I just had to feed him after his travels........ good grief.... I still can't believe it.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you glad I'm back and now you have something to write about?
Thursday, March 19, 2015
The first snake....
... but it wasn't here, it was up the road in JS's yard. That doesn't make me feel better... it just makes me aware that as the weather is getting warmer, the snakes are getting more active and we'll be seeing them around our house and property. It's only a matter of time.
JS happened upon the snake when she was walking around her property. She said the snake was little enough to kill with a long stick, which she conveniently picked up when she saw the snake. How little is 'little enough' to be killed with a stick? And would I stand there whacking a little snake with a big stick till he took his last gasping breath? Of course not. One sight of a snake and I'm running in the opposite direction. I don't wait to see what kind of snake it is, the coloring, the markings, the pointed head or the round face... who cares... a snake is a snake is a snake and I want nothing whatsoever to do with them, thank you.
There are times when I'd like to put a huge clear bubble all over this property and house... and not have to worry about slithering snakes and flying wasps and critters that explore every inch of the yard as soon as the sun goes down.
My husband says I need a condo by the Galleria in downtown Houston.
"Not exactly," I told him. "The Galleria is too expensive to shop in... I just want a snake-free, wildlife-free environment close to a good shoe store and a spectacular bookstore."
Is that too much to ask?
JS happened upon the snake when she was walking around her property. She said the snake was little enough to kill with a long stick, which she conveniently picked up when she saw the snake. How little is 'little enough' to be killed with a stick? And would I stand there whacking a little snake with a big stick till he took his last gasping breath? Of course not. One sight of a snake and I'm running in the opposite direction. I don't wait to see what kind of snake it is, the coloring, the markings, the pointed head or the round face... who cares... a snake is a snake is a snake and I want nothing whatsoever to do with them, thank you.
There are times when I'd like to put a huge clear bubble all over this property and house... and not have to worry about slithering snakes and flying wasps and critters that explore every inch of the yard as soon as the sun goes down.
My husband says I need a condo by the Galleria in downtown Houston.
"Not exactly," I told him. "The Galleria is too expensive to shop in... I just want a snake-free, wildlife-free environment close to a good shoe store and a spectacular bookstore."
Is that too much to ask?
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Quiet Porch - Mayhem Across the Road.
Our porch is peaceful once again, now that the orange cat is living his kitty-dreams by the Lake. I felt so badly having to bring that cat elsewhere, but he'd still be here if only he had calmed down and learned some good manners. My hand is still hurting from the scratches he gave me last week, and I'm not missing that blasted cat at all. Neither are our two outside cats, who now sleep wherever they like on the porch, not looking even looking around anymore for that orange cat. I'm guessing that Gatsby and Mickey know he's gone for good. Heaven help me if that orange cat finds his way back here, but I don't think he will..... the Lake isn't exactly around the corner, and he'd have to cross the main highway to get back to the hills here.
The day after the orange cat capture, the goats across the road got out of the neighbor's field (for the umpteenth time). The neighbor noticed the escaped goats right away, and drove over to our side of the hill with his truck in an attempt to round up his livestock and get them back into their pasture. Along with the neighbor came his two dogs, who usually do a very good job of herding the goats back to where they belong. The other day, however, one of his dogs not only herded the goats, but caught one of the goats and was trying to make it his lunch.
I happened to be out on the porch during all of the above, and all I could hear was the little goat screaming and crying while that dog held it between his teeth and tried to kill it. Nothing sounds as pitiful as a baby goat... sounds just like a small child when it's crying. Breaks your heart... I can't even explain it. I couldn't stay out there and listen to that.... back into the house I came and I have no idea what happened to the baby goat, what happened to the dog, and I don't even know how the neighbor got them separated.
About half an hour later, it was quiet out there again... no sounds from the goat... the field was clear of all the goats... the dog wasn't there, and neither was the neighbor. I thought I heard a gun going off, but my husband told me that the sound I heard was the back-firing of the neighbor's truck, which does from time to time make that kind of sound.
"It was his truck back-firing," said my husband again.
"Fine. It was the truck," said I.
Pooh. There are times when country life isn't all it's cracked up to be.
The day after the orange cat capture, the goats across the road got out of the neighbor's field (for the umpteenth time). The neighbor noticed the escaped goats right away, and drove over to our side of the hill with his truck in an attempt to round up his livestock and get them back into their pasture. Along with the neighbor came his two dogs, who usually do a very good job of herding the goats back to where they belong. The other day, however, one of his dogs not only herded the goats, but caught one of the goats and was trying to make it his lunch.
I happened to be out on the porch during all of the above, and all I could hear was the little goat screaming and crying while that dog held it between his teeth and tried to kill it. Nothing sounds as pitiful as a baby goat... sounds just like a small child when it's crying. Breaks your heart... I can't even explain it. I couldn't stay out there and listen to that.... back into the house I came and I have no idea what happened to the baby goat, what happened to the dog, and I don't even know how the neighbor got them separated.
About half an hour later, it was quiet out there again... no sounds from the goat... the field was clear of all the goats... the dog wasn't there, and neither was the neighbor. I thought I heard a gun going off, but my husband told me that the sound I heard was the back-firing of the neighbor's truck, which does from time to time make that kind of sound.
"It was his truck back-firing," said my husband again.
"Fine. It was the truck," said I.
Pooh. There are times when country life isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Goodbye Orange Cat (!!!!!)
As simple as that... goodbye to the stray orange cat who has tormented me for the past year.
I had the little cat bed inside of the cat-crate, both sitting on the lounge chair out on the porch. Three times this morning, as the orange cat was curled up inside it, I went out on the porch to close the door of the crate. Smart cat, that one.... as soon as I set one foot on the porch, the orange cat jumped out of the cat bed and sat down on the edge of the lounge chair. When I went back into the house, back he went to curl up in his little bed. It was as if he knew my plan to catch him.
And then, along came nearby friend C... she parked in the driveway, walked up the porch steps, saw the orange cat curled up in the bed inside of the cat crate... he watched her walking across the porch, and he also watched her as she quietly shut the door of the cat crate and locked it. As simple as that. I'd been trying to catch that damn cat for nearly a year and a half and she did it within half a minute.
Into the house came C.... and said the orange cat was inside the crate. We had all just talked about that stupid cat at yesterday's Waldorf Wednesday tea party.... and there he was now, confined inside of that crate and ready for travel.
That early in the morning, the shelter here isn't open.... they don't open till nearly noon. I wasn't about to leave that cat in the crate from 8:00 till noon. Plus, that large crate doesn't even fit into my car, and my husband isn't home with his bigger car. I asked C if she would drive me to the Lake to release that orange cat.
I absolutely hate when people re-locate cats and dogs that way... and I'm guessing that the orange cat had been re-located onto our property that very same way, by someone who had grown tired of his scratching and biting. After yesterday's episode of him scratching me five times in less than three seconds, my patience with that cat had worn very thin, to the point of non-existence.
So off we went, C and I, with the orange cat in the back of her car, which is much larger than my two-seater car that couldn't ever hold that big cat crate. Down the highway we went towards the town with the Lake....... and we made a turn onto a long road with little houses here and there.... and we chose a spot with three houses that all had sheds that the orange cat could sleep under, and trees he could climb, and there weren't any dogs in the yards.
Opened up the back of C's car, opened up that crate, and out ran the orange cat... and I watched him running towards the woods surrounding the little houses. Out of my life, and into someone else's, and even though I've always despised people who do that, I just felt that I had no other choice with that blasted cat.
The orange cat had a long run at our home, more than a year.... and in all that time, I made sure he had an on-going supply of Meow Mix, plus a warm place to sleep. And you would think, after all of these months, he would have learned some manners. I would have kept him forever, taken him to the vet for shots and fixing, and given him a proper name. But that orange cat just wouldn't learn good cat-behavior, so I'm not at all sorry for what I did with him this morning.
The porch is once again a safe haven for our own two outside cats. No more orange cat terrorizing them or disrupting their porch-time. Happy day. Oh my goodness, happy day!!!!!!!! And I truly hope the orange cat finds a good soul over there by the Lake who will give him Meow Mix... and I'm hoping beyond hope that he doesn't scratch and bite the hand of someone else who may be a good shot with a rifle and end his bad behavior forever.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you gonna miss me?
No. Definitely not. I'm already glad that you're gone.
I had the little cat bed inside of the cat-crate, both sitting on the lounge chair out on the porch. Three times this morning, as the orange cat was curled up inside it, I went out on the porch to close the door of the crate. Smart cat, that one.... as soon as I set one foot on the porch, the orange cat jumped out of the cat bed and sat down on the edge of the lounge chair. When I went back into the house, back he went to curl up in his little bed. It was as if he knew my plan to catch him.
And then, along came nearby friend C... she parked in the driveway, walked up the porch steps, saw the orange cat curled up in the bed inside of the cat crate... he watched her walking across the porch, and he also watched her as she quietly shut the door of the cat crate and locked it. As simple as that. I'd been trying to catch that damn cat for nearly a year and a half and she did it within half a minute.
Into the house came C.... and said the orange cat was inside the crate. We had all just talked about that stupid cat at yesterday's Waldorf Wednesday tea party.... and there he was now, confined inside of that crate and ready for travel.
That early in the morning, the shelter here isn't open.... they don't open till nearly noon. I wasn't about to leave that cat in the crate from 8:00 till noon. Plus, that large crate doesn't even fit into my car, and my husband isn't home with his bigger car. I asked C if she would drive me to the Lake to release that orange cat.
I absolutely hate when people re-locate cats and dogs that way... and I'm guessing that the orange cat had been re-located onto our property that very same way, by someone who had grown tired of his scratching and biting. After yesterday's episode of him scratching me five times in less than three seconds, my patience with that cat had worn very thin, to the point of non-existence.
So off we went, C and I, with the orange cat in the back of her car, which is much larger than my two-seater car that couldn't ever hold that big cat crate. Down the highway we went towards the town with the Lake....... and we made a turn onto a long road with little houses here and there.... and we chose a spot with three houses that all had sheds that the orange cat could sleep under, and trees he could climb, and there weren't any dogs in the yards.
Opened up the back of C's car, opened up that crate, and out ran the orange cat... and I watched him running towards the woods surrounding the little houses. Out of my life, and into someone else's, and even though I've always despised people who do that, I just felt that I had no other choice with that blasted cat.
The orange cat had a long run at our home, more than a year.... and in all that time, I made sure he had an on-going supply of Meow Mix, plus a warm place to sleep. And you would think, after all of these months, he would have learned some manners. I would have kept him forever, taken him to the vet for shots and fixing, and given him a proper name. But that orange cat just wouldn't learn good cat-behavior, so I'm not at all sorry for what I did with him this morning.
The porch is once again a safe haven for our own two outside cats. No more orange cat terrorizing them or disrupting their porch-time. Happy day. Oh my goodness, happy day!!!!!!!! And I truly hope the orange cat finds a good soul over there by the Lake who will give him Meow Mix... and I'm hoping beyond hope that he doesn't scratch and bite the hand of someone else who may be a good shot with a rifle and end his bad behavior forever.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you gonna miss me?
No. Definitely not. I'm already glad that you're gone.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
That stupid orange cat...
... has scratched me for the last time. Totally my fault, because I should know better by now to not trust that stupid cat. But there he was, stretched out on one of the porch chairs and meowing so pitifully this morning. And what did I do? Well, of course I just had to pet him, and I was talking to him and telling him that the sun was bound to come out by the end of the week to warm him up a bit... and as I was talking, his paws came out with claws extended and I now have three bandaids on my wrist to cover up the Neosporin-tinted scratch marks that I have from that stupid damn cat.
I don't know what gets into the kitty-mind of that orange cat. He has a bed out there on the porch, fresh water and food, and still, he insists on slashing his claw-marks into either my hands or my ankles. Enough already. Right after that happened, I went upstairs to tell my husband that we truly need to get rid of that once-stray-and-forever-stray cat. Miss C was here this morning and suggested we try to capture him in one of the cat-crates or even a trash can. Trouble with that is, as soon as the orange cat sees any sort of box-like structure, he runs and hides in the barn or under the cottage. Which is exactly what he did when I brought the crate up on the porch this morning.
As I type, the little cat bed for the orange cat is inside the biggest cat-crate that I have. I covered up the entire crate with the same blanket that I was using to cover the top of the cat-bed out there..... so I'm hoping that the next time the orange cat gets into that cat-bed, I can slam the door of the crate shut and trap that stupid cat inside of it. Then off we'll go........ and I swear, if the local animal shelter isn't open, I will drive to the Lake and release that cat into the woods by the camping grounds. Let him find his own damn food and give his poignant meows to the campers and fishermen out there.
Stupid me for petting that orange cat. And stupid cat for the worst scratches he's given me so far... but now I won't feel at all badly when I take him away so he can start a new life elsewhere. And I do intend to tell the people at the shelter that he's not a friendly cat, and whatever they choose to do with him is out of my hands. (My scratched and bandaged hands.)
I don't know what gets into the kitty-mind of that orange cat. He has a bed out there on the porch, fresh water and food, and still, he insists on slashing his claw-marks into either my hands or my ankles. Enough already. Right after that happened, I went upstairs to tell my husband that we truly need to get rid of that once-stray-and-forever-stray cat. Miss C was here this morning and suggested we try to capture him in one of the cat-crates or even a trash can. Trouble with that is, as soon as the orange cat sees any sort of box-like structure, he runs and hides in the barn or under the cottage. Which is exactly what he did when I brought the crate up on the porch this morning.
As I type, the little cat bed for the orange cat is inside the biggest cat-crate that I have. I covered up the entire crate with the same blanket that I was using to cover the top of the cat-bed out there..... so I'm hoping that the next time the orange cat gets into that cat-bed, I can slam the door of the crate shut and trap that stupid cat inside of it. Then off we'll go........ and I swear, if the local animal shelter isn't open, I will drive to the Lake and release that cat into the woods by the camping grounds. Let him find his own damn food and give his poignant meows to the campers and fishermen out there.
Stupid me for petting that orange cat. And stupid cat for the worst scratches he's given me so far... but now I won't feel at all badly when I take him away so he can start a new life elsewhere. And I do intend to tell the people at the shelter that he's not a friendly cat, and whatever they choose to do with him is out of my hands. (My scratched and bandaged hands.)
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Goats in the garden...
... and no, they weren't our goats.
Looking out the window yesterday to see if the cats were on the porch, and what did I see? Both Mickey and Gatsby on the porch with their heads between the spindles of the porch railing... staring at half a dozen of the neighbor's goats as they munched on a rose bush in one of the flowerbeds.
I thought quickly and got the air-horn that my husband uses to scare away the crows, and I went out on the porch, down the steps, and blasted that air-horn towards the goats. Not only did the six rose-destroying goats run down the driveway, but so did the other ten goats who were grazing around the gazebo. Down the hill they went, running towards their own pasture, and then they all jumped the fence, one by one, to get back to their own property. Needless to say, that neighbor's fence needs repair, and although he's fixed most of the fence, the part that's closest to our road is woefully lacking in stability, which makes it easy for the goats to escape.
To further make my point with those goats, I blasted the air-horn again when they got to their fence and they kept running and running till they all ended up at the very far end of their pasture, as far away from our property as they could get. The rose bush that they were eating is now devoid of the new leaves that were popping up. How they managed to eat around all the thorns is just a mystery to me.
The funny part was that my husband looked up "how to keep goats away" on the Internet, and one of the sites he found via Google was one of my own previous blog posts talking about runaway goats from neighboring properties.
Looking out the window yesterday to see if the cats were on the porch, and what did I see? Both Mickey and Gatsby on the porch with their heads between the spindles of the porch railing... staring at half a dozen of the neighbor's goats as they munched on a rose bush in one of the flowerbeds.
I thought quickly and got the air-horn that my husband uses to scare away the crows, and I went out on the porch, down the steps, and blasted that air-horn towards the goats. Not only did the six rose-destroying goats run down the driveway, but so did the other ten goats who were grazing around the gazebo. Down the hill they went, running towards their own pasture, and then they all jumped the fence, one by one, to get back to their own property. Needless to say, that neighbor's fence needs repair, and although he's fixed most of the fence, the part that's closest to our road is woefully lacking in stability, which makes it easy for the goats to escape.
To further make my point with those goats, I blasted the air-horn again when they got to their fence and they kept running and running till they all ended up at the very far end of their pasture, as far away from our property as they could get. The rose bush that they were eating is now devoid of the new leaves that were popping up. How they managed to eat around all the thorns is just a mystery to me.
The funny part was that my husband looked up "how to keep goats away" on the Internet, and one of the sites he found via Google was one of my own previous blog posts talking about runaway goats from neighboring properties.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Squirrels in the attic...
... and we can hear them running around up there on the third floor under the eaves and in the crawl spaces behind the library walls. Perhaps they would like to read some of the books?
Thankfully, the squirrels can't get into the library... there are two little trap doors that go from the library into the crawl spaces on either side of that room, but those doors are locked from the library side, preventing anything (furry and cute or slithery and ugly) from getting beyond the crawl space.
With the squirrel problem in mind, my husband went searching the Internet for answers on how to re-locate the squirrel family. We don't know how many are up there, but it's definitely more than one because at times it sounds like they're having a race up there from one end of the attic to the other. Of course we could set traps, but that would either kill the squirrels or make them crazy till they're let out of those cages. I've seen a squirrel who was caught in a catch-release trap and the poor thing kept banging his furry head against the metal cage till he was bleeding. (Not exactly what I'd want to happen up there in the attic.)
So my husband searched the Internet and found that the urine of a fox would scare squirrels away very quickly. (That was not a typo.) Off my husband went to the hunting/fishing stores, and he found that they did indeed sell bottles of urine from various prey animals. (Don't ask how the urine is collected... I don't know and I don't want to know.)
My husband bought a small bottle of red fox urine at the Academy Sporting Goods store. Apparently, squirrels stay far away from red foxes because a fox will catch and eat a squirrel and then go out and catch another, and another.
This morning, my husband heard the squirrel noises up in the attic. As I type, he is up there with the bottle of fox urine and a small plastic tray lined with a paper towel. He intends to pour a little of the urine on the paper towel in the tray, open up the little trap door into the attic eaves, place the tray on the attic floor, and then lock up that door... hoping that the squirrels will get a whiff of that offending liquid, pack their bags, and find lodgings elsewhere.
And here I sit... city girl that I've always been... hoping that the next time I go up to the third floor and walk into my library, the only thing I'll get a whiff of is the gentle old papery odor of my books.
Now, honestly.... do you think I could make this stuff up?
Thankfully, the squirrels can't get into the library... there are two little trap doors that go from the library into the crawl spaces on either side of that room, but those doors are locked from the library side, preventing anything (furry and cute or slithery and ugly) from getting beyond the crawl space.
With the squirrel problem in mind, my husband went searching the Internet for answers on how to re-locate the squirrel family. We don't know how many are up there, but it's definitely more than one because at times it sounds like they're having a race up there from one end of the attic to the other. Of course we could set traps, but that would either kill the squirrels or make them crazy till they're let out of those cages. I've seen a squirrel who was caught in a catch-release trap and the poor thing kept banging his furry head against the metal cage till he was bleeding. (Not exactly what I'd want to happen up there in the attic.)
So my husband searched the Internet and found that the urine of a fox would scare squirrels away very quickly. (That was not a typo.) Off my husband went to the hunting/fishing stores, and he found that they did indeed sell bottles of urine from various prey animals. (Don't ask how the urine is collected... I don't know and I don't want to know.)
My husband bought a small bottle of red fox urine at the Academy Sporting Goods store. Apparently, squirrels stay far away from red foxes because a fox will catch and eat a squirrel and then go out and catch another, and another.
This morning, my husband heard the squirrel noises up in the attic. As I type, he is up there with the bottle of fox urine and a small plastic tray lined with a paper towel. He intends to pour a little of the urine on the paper towel in the tray, open up the little trap door into the attic eaves, place the tray on the attic floor, and then lock up that door... hoping that the squirrels will get a whiff of that offending liquid, pack their bags, and find lodgings elsewhere.
And here I sit... city girl that I've always been... hoping that the next time I go up to the third floor and walk into my library, the only thing I'll get a whiff of is the gentle old papery odor of my books.
Now, honestly.... do you think I could make this stuff up?
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