When Clarice comes to clean
(help since the back injury in January) at least half of what she does is social services. I know it, I said it and she laughs at me with delight. We share a sense of humour, a wish to communicate, she is passionate about voice (as in radio) rather than vision, works like a Trojan, has been to hell and back, and we do really well. I know and admit how vital voice is to me. There is real affection – aren’t we lucky ?
So when she arrived this sweaty Wednesday, I asked her if when she had done the basics, if she would help me empty the linen chest (authentic)
because I no longer knew what was in it. Yes, I could have done this myself – about a third of it – and then had to pause which makes such tasks interminable.
So we began – not so difficult, a bit of cleaning out, but it led in to the wider cupboard under the stairs. Which is where I said “What’s that ?” and pulled out a neatly fastened biggish box – “Oh, it’s the squirrel trap.” She burst out laughing and I told her how when my son was living with me, a squirrel
got stuck in the kitchen, roosting behind the washing machine. No good moving the washing machine – son did that – squirrel bolted, only to return like a flash from wherever else it hid, when we had left the kitchen. This went on for two weeks.
I don’t know where it did the necessary and I am not going to go there. There was no odour, how lucky were we ? But it retired behind the machine, we could hear it.
Eventually I went on line to The Trap Man and to this day don’t know whether I intended to catch the beast or just to psych myself up that I could if necessary …
We were both going out, son went off before me, when I had what Clarice called my Hansel and Gretel moment. I put a small plank on the radiator top , not wanting the beast to break anything or be discouraged. I covered this with a thick old towel. I opened the sash window at the bottom and I sprinkled almond flakes (I am an almond addict) from the front of the washing machine, up on the top of the radiator, across the sill, and out of the window: went out, prayed and came back. Shut window, listened. Quiet. Did that several times that night till bedtime. Shut back door and kitchen windows with care. Not a sound.
Bye bye squirrel
So I never used the squirrel trap. Since Clarice and I realigned the cupboard under the stairs, I have tried to donate an unused humane squirrel trap to the local RSPCA who don’t do wildlife (!) and two wildlife organisations who don’t do replies to emails. Next week I shall try and return it to The Trap Man.
I do not have several saucers each with some tiny edible portion in the refrigerator – but I do hate waste. And the trap is unused. Good as new, etc.
I fought the fight against mice at one stage – they move to pastures new when where they have inhabited is being repaired or redeveloped.
And they made the squirrel look like a walk in the park.
Again, I didn’t want to kill them,
I just wanted them to go away. But just when they looked like staying for ever, three things happened.
I think they began to look for some where more welcoming, maybe more food – I cleared everything away as if my life depended up on it, I always do. Secondly I bought a benign ie unkilling trap and one got stuck in where it banged backwards and forwards for a long time during the small hours until ARaeburn rose, yes of course night clothes, but added essential equipment ie slippers, specs and rubber gloves.
I filled a bucket with cold water, put it outside the backdoor, picked up the trap and submerged the whole thing. When I told him, my son was appalled. “You killed it !” Darned right. It was me or the mouse.
And they left as of that night.
Annalog 