An email I sent to my friends this evening:
Dear friends, I am writing you this note as I make a packing list for my eventual trip to the mother***ing nuthouse. Last night, as Murphy and I were snuggled up watching Nashville, we were startled by what sounded like someone falling down some metal stairs and landing on a metal plate with a very loud THWAP! We then heard something like a small cat flipping the f*** out in our chimney. We have never used it, so the blessed flue is closed. I sat on the floor while Murphy climbed on the hearth to investigate the noises of the creature trying unsuccessfully to climb up the slick, non-brick walls of our chimney. This lasted for about twenty minutes, until the squatter then entered panic mode and began scratching furiously at whatever material keeps him from dropping his fat ass down my chimney. Without a guarantee of stocking-filling and gifts wrapped 'neath the tree, I am in no mood for things to be falling down my chimney and into my fireplace. It is in these situations that I get very irrationally emotional and uncontrollably angry about being left to deal with these types of situations on my own. Listening to the animal try to claw its way into my home and me with no man to handle critters for me, I convinced myself that I could not go to bed. That I would not wake up when the animal came through, ran straight up the stairs with an impeccable sense of direction, and scratched the faces off my kids in their sleep.
This was made even more intense when the animal started crying. I fell asleep on the floor in front of my fireplace and when I woke twenty minutes later, the noises had stopped, so I carted myself to bed. When there was no noise this morning, I was hoping that it had found a way up or one of its friends had thrown down a rope. However, Cydney Wilson reported this afternoon that the cougar was still in the chimney, had been scratching furiously all afternoon and was again making audible sobs for someone or something to come and help him. I am way too chickenshit to just open the flue to see what happens, lest it be a RAT or a POSSUM or a LIGER. While I do not appreciate the tranquility of my home being disturbed by an unwelcomed drop into my chimney, I get very sad at the panic it must be feeling, knowing that without emergency aid, it will die in there. Animal Control is coming this evening to OPEN THE FLUE and see what runs out. Oy vey.
So Animal Control did send over a Pocket Man, who himself could have climbed into the chimney to retrieve the guest. He stationed me at the kitchen door with a broom to "shoo" the animal (at this point diagnosed a squirrel) out the open front door if it failed to haul ass thataway. The flue was opened. No rabid animal fled the fireplace. There was no noise. Pocket Man tapped and whistled and looked UP into the chimney, and the animal did not come out. He suggested that I just leave the flue open and "shoo" the animal out the door when it comes down. I told him that we would be needing to order takeout for two, because he would not be leaving me here with a rodent and an open flue. We compromised and came up with this:
This was made even more intense when the animal started crying. I fell asleep on the floor in front of my fireplace and when I woke twenty minutes later, the noises had stopped, so I carted myself to bed. When there was no noise this morning, I was hoping that it had found a way up or one of its friends had thrown down a rope. However, Cydney Wilson reported this afternoon that the cougar was still in the chimney, had been scratching furiously all afternoon and was again making audible sobs for someone or something to come and help him. I am way too chickenshit to just open the flue to see what happens, lest it be a RAT or a POSSUM or a LIGER. While I do not appreciate the tranquility of my home being disturbed by an unwelcomed drop into my chimney, I get very sad at the panic it must be feeling, knowing that without emergency aid, it will die in there. Animal Control is coming this evening to OPEN THE FLUE and see what runs out. Oy vey.
So Animal Control did send over a Pocket Man, who himself could have climbed into the chimney to retrieve the guest. He stationed me at the kitchen door with a broom to "shoo" the animal (at this point diagnosed a squirrel) out the open front door if it failed to haul ass thataway. The flue was opened. No rabid animal fled the fireplace. There was no noise. Pocket Man tapped and whistled and looked UP into the chimney, and the animal did not come out. He suggested that I just leave the flue open and "shoo" the animal out the door when it comes down. I told him that we would be needing to order takeout for two, because he would not be leaving me here with a rodent and an open flue. We compromised and came up with this:
That is a fireplace with an open flue, with a peanut butter cracker smack dab in the middle of it, blocked off by a baby gate to keep him from running out into the living room. The light is to help guide him to the escape route below. The dog has been freaking out for hours. The plan is that when the critter makes his way down toward the cracker, I will shut the flue, trapping the animal in the actual fireplace. The Pocket Man will accept my phone call and return to the house toot suite to "shoo" this thing outside.
Except that I have been sitting here listening to this thing try to scamper up a slick metal wall, be unsuccessful, slide down the wall and land on something with a thud, then commence crying. This animal is either blind or stupid, or I do not understand the construction of a fireplace.
The interesting this about this debacle is that it escalated as I was having a serious conversation with my realtor about buying vs. renting after this house is sold. My budget for rent is small, because unmarrying is expensive and I do not want to be house poor. I also expect to move again when it is time for us to put Jake in high school. However, it has been repeatedly suggested to me that I could buy a small, habitable foreclosure for a very low note, and spend two years doing small fixes to it flip it for a profit. This is appealing. I will need something to do while I am recovering from my unmarriage, and a fixer-upper sounds appealing. Having a good downpayment to put on a better house is a welcome idea as well.
I hate the idea of losing ample square footage inside and out on a safe and quiet street to shove an adult, two pre-adolescent boys, one dog and one cat into a two bedroom apartment. Necessity nothwithstanding, that is an awful adjustment to ask us to make. On the other hand, I like the idea of renting something and having maintenance and repairs be someone else's financial and physical responsibility. I have enough reponsibility for the moment, and I am trying to pursue making things easier on me for a while.
Then something gets stuck in the chimney, and there's no husband-type person here to deal with it for me. (Not to insult women's lib, but I prefer bugs and critters to be handled by Someone Else, and my kids are not large or trustworthy enough to handle anything but roaches and lizards.) It might be coincidence. It also might be the Godiverse telling me to stick with my gut and follow through on the "no additional responsibility because you're doing it on your own" rent idea.
Not that I am completely without help. I am daily thankful that I co-parent with someone who wants to do right by his boys, works at it, and does not say "it's not my turn" when I need help. I group Necessary Assistance into two categories: 1) problems I cannot solve by myself and need aid in providing for the safety and welfare of the children 2) my own calamitous experiences, which I elect, from a deep sense of pride, to handle on my own. I figured that "rabid animal stuck in chimney with sons sleeping upstairs" qualified under "welfare of the children," so I requested the assistance of the Was-band.
Althought there have been events for which he has earned my contempt, I reserve my anger for when I am inconvenienced or overwhelmed and can blame that on him. In every instance, communication is important. My therapist keeps telling me that I need to use my feeling words. I think this is going incredibly well. I rarely get angry without the use of expletives. I am the poster child for personal growth.
That damn peanut butter cracker is untouched and there is no critter in the fireplace yet. I'm calling it a wash and going to bed.
That damn peanut butter cracker is untouched and there is no critter in the fireplace yet. I'm calling it a wash and going to bed.
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