I rarely write in real-time, but this saga has gone on for several days now and I feel the best way for me to deal (cope?) with the present issue is to write about my f-e-e-l-i-n-g-s. Gag.
First, I'll bring you up to speed.
Tuesday evening my family was preparing to leave the house to attend Tanner and Kate's final band concert of the year. Katelyn opened the door to the garage and found our homicidal cat, Lincoln, sitting on the top step with a live chipmunk in his mouth. Katelyn jumped, causing the cat to drop the chipmunk. The chipmunk darted, chased by the cat. At this point, I obliviously opened the door and immediately saw the critter running spastically around my feet. In a very undignified manner, I screamed hysterically and jumped up and down, landing on the chipmunk's tail and sending it careening through the open doorway and into my house.
After a brief search, we fled the scene for the concert. Upon returning home, Tanner, Kate and Dad did an extremely thorough (and messy) examination of the premises. Kalli, Tucker and I parked our fannies at the top of the stairs, claiming to be on the "lookout" but really just avoiding hard work and the potential for being sprung upon by a wild rodent. Such episodes have been known to kill (or at least emotionally maim) the faint-hearted. We three entertained ourselves by making up a new verse to Kalli's favorite hand-clap game. It goes like this:
See, see ol' chipmunk,
Please leave our house right now.
Or Mom will have a cow,
The cat will meow and meow.
Flee to the forest,
With all your furry friends.
And then this wild story
Will have an end!!
(This remix is accompanied by some very elaborate hand-slapping motions that I learned while at second grade recess a few months ago. I wowed Kalli's friends with my hand-game skills and I feel kind of popular and mildly impressed with myself.)
Upon finding nothing, we concluded that perhaps the chipmunk died somewhere and we could sniff it out in a day or two, or it had escaped through a hole in the wall that we were to-date unaware of.
We all slept with the afore-mentioned conclusion lending false hope to our weary, wary minds.
Wednesday afternoon I am sitting at my computer in the bedroom and sense that I'm being watched. Not the eerie sixth sense type of feeling where you know you're life is weighted by a solitary decision beyond your control, but the type of feeling that you're being watched by something cute and furry and entirely out of its natural habitat. That type of feeling. Lo and behold, as I looked to my left, I see the little chipmunk staring at me from the middle of the bonus room. We held each other's gaze for what seemed like seconds (it actually
was just seconds), and then he darted behind furniture. He continued to make regular appearances while I looked on, trying to decide what to do. Here you can see him in all of his cuteness hiding in a niche below the TV.
I placed a phone call to my best friend, asking in hushed tones for advice regarding how to handle the situation. While silently congratulating myself on choosing such a wise and intelligent friend, she came up with the following plan: find something large and flat to slide over the face of the niche, thus trapping the chipmunk inside, until Manly Hero Sean can get home and figure out the rest (because it was his turn to deal with the rodent. I like to think we know how to tag team; it's how we keep our balance in our marriage).
Here's the resulting barricade:
After congratulating myself some more on a precarious job well done (my self-esteem was having a pretty great day), I went off to pick up kids and do the usual afternoon runaround. Upon returning home, Kate informed me that the chipmunk must have escaped because she managed to trap it downstairs in the game room, where it was currently hiding out in the fireplace vent. Being the thoughtful offspring-of-myself that she is, she had prepared a luxurious spread of peanuts, marshmallows, crackers, etc., and presented it buffet-style in front of the fireplace. She's a giver.
We spent the next several hours observing the chipmunk. My brother-in-law suggested we open the window and put the food on the ledge in hopes that he'd find his own way out. We left the window open and went on with our evening.
There was no sign of the little drifter the rest of that evening and all day Thursday. We believed it was the end of the chipmunk drama.
Until this morning. I was sitting on the couch with my two youngest ones after breakfast (probably doing something spiritually or educationally edifying. I can't recall). And here comes Lincoln, tearing after a skittering furball. He nabs it by the neck and heads for the stairs. Here's where I got all lit up, because come on! Enough already!
I quick grabbed the broom and ran after the cat, who had once again dropped the chipmunk. So I'm chasing a cat whose chasing a chipmunk up the stairs. The cat grabs the chipmunk and I scooch the cat with the broom back toward the stairs in hopes that we can all make it to the front door without there being major blood loss.
Alas, the cat dodged the broom and headed for the laundry room. I'd had it. I slammed the door, blocked off the cat door with a massive blockade, and walked away.
Which brings me to the present moment.
I'm once again sitting at my computer. I can hear an occasional chipmunky squeak or scrape of cat claw against linoleum. I'm drowning in rodent-induced guilt. My options have run out and I now potentially have chipmunk blood on my hands (and laundry room floor). I feel an impending funeral...
Rodent Incident #2
Rewind once more to Wednesday night. Kalli was in the process of feeding and watering her beloved gerbil, Rosy, when she found me folding laundry. With a look of high-concern on her face, she explained that Rosy was barely moving and was very cold. Most alarming of all, she didn't try to escape as Kalli fed her. This was a sure sign something was amiss.
Indeed, upon closer inspection by Katelyn (becaue I don't touch rodents; not even to check their body temperature or pulse), it was decided that something was drastically wrong with Rosy. After a wordy explanation regarding why we do not take gerbils to the emergency room, regardless of the crisis, we decided to give Rosy some love and put her cage next to Kalli's bed for the night.
Of course, by Thursday morning she was stiff as a 2 by 4 and competely dead. Tanner shed many tears and spouted a few variations of, "It's not fair," Kalli sniffled away her sadness and snuggled me, Katelyn put her grief to good use and did the dirty work of wrapping Rosy's stiff carcass in a washcloth and placing her in a box, and Tucker was apparently unaffected by death's cruel undertaking. Who knew the Grim Reaper had varying levels of provocation on my children?
Let it be noted that brave Rosy had lived through several near-death experiences provoked by Homicidal Lincoln (who was previously mentioned in the chipmunk story). As you can see below, she lost an eyeball in one altercation. We'll miss you, brave Rosy.
Kalli's carefully prepared gravesite. Rest in peace, little gerbil.
No feet on the ground for this girl.
The Foam Pit of Joy.
Kalli and crew.
Showing off the loot.
Kalli and jewelry. A strange combination, but worth a try...
