I was fast asleep last night (Here was me: "Zzzzzzz") (No, you're welcome) when for some reason I was jolted awake. I was in a total dog sandwich, as I always am, pinned to one position, and I wonder why my hips often hurt. Could it be the contortion of my body eight hours a day due to dog pressure? Could it? Hips don't lie. Anyway,
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What the hell was THAT?
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Was that...coming from the attic? Naturally I thought immediately of the Exorcist. I tried to burrow down further under the covers, which of course were unmovable because THEY WERE COVERED IN DOG.
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Oh, goddammit. Why was there a devil in my attic? Was it the devil and Miss Jones, or just the devil going solo? Bach-ing it. Who here was going to get possessed? Would it be me? How soon would people be able to tell? I didn't want to throw up pea soup.
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I sat up, causing Edsel to leap off the bed dramatically and flee the room, doing his Edith-Bunker-running-out-of-the-room-crying impression. Had he been able to wave his front feet while he ran, he would have. Tallulah slept, unmoving.
I listened carefully. Where was it COMING from? I couldn't figure out if it was at the front of the house or right over me. And what was it? It was probably something building a nest, right?
Wait. Does that mean I'll be getting baby something up there? Like, baby rats? Awww! That's cute! Bayyyy-beee rats! Or maybe bayyyy-beee squirrels!! I squeeed silently a little, thinking about baby squirrels. Maybe baby pandas!
Okay, probably not baby pandas.
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But it was....chewing something. Oh, God. I'm gonna have to call pest control, and there goes all the rest of my money till next payday, which is only 12 days away, so that'll be fun. Why I gotta be single and own a house and all these pets and now I have new pets and babies on the way? Would the pest control company HURT the babies? I don't want them to hurt the babies. Maybe I could raise them like I'm Ellie May Clampett, feed baby possums with a bottle and so forth. How bad are rabies shots, really?
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I crawled out of bed around the LUMP that is Tallulah when she's asleep. I got a giant huge flashlight and pounded on the ceiling, like Miss Chu the Rodent was some kind of loud neighbor whose party had gone on too long. BANG BANG BANG.
BANG BANG BANG. I pounded the wall above my bed. I went back to bed, crawling around the fur-covered boulder that is Tallulah when she's asleep. Did I mention she's not one to bound out of bed so easily?
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Oh, SON OF A BITCH. I was going to have to go up there and confront the chewer. What if it leaped on my face? Why I gotta be single? Why couldn't I just send Iris up there? She'd murder whatever it was.
Winston used to go up in the attic and play for hours. We used to say he was on vole patrol. I have no idea if he ever actually murdered any voles up there, but why else would he be so fascinated with the attic?
I miss Winston.
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Crap. I got up again, around the UNMOVING EFFING BODY of that DOG, and pulled the attic open determinedly. Squreeeeek! said the attic.
But see. Right then I thought of The Exorcist again. And of Captain Howdy. And of rolly-back eyeballs. I slammed the attic shut and crawled back into bed AROUND THAT DOG. Honestly, was she in a coma?
Hulk would never just lie here and let some animal chew my house. He'd gleefully go up there and snap its neck. Why was I thinking of Hulk? Why would Hulk and I be lying in bed together listening to Ratsputin, up there, chew my attic? Was it cheating on Ned to be thinking this way?
I decided the only way Hulk would be at my house is if we'd gotten terrifically drunk on something weird and passed out. Something we never drank. Something orange. Like Gatorade and vodka. If Hulk and I had orange Gatorade and vodka, like 12 drinks apiece, we might end up passed out in my bed and then he could get up and snap the neck of the rodent of unusual size up in my attic.
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I decided I was thirsty.
I got up to get water, and this time Tallulah stirred. o. it time to get up? She poured herself off the bed painstakingly. It was like she was the honey in Greek yogurt, you know the kind you pour in? And the honey's all cold from the refrigerator, and takes 109 years to pour itself out?
She was like that.
We both ambled to the kitchen and drank, Talu from her bowl and me from my earth-unfriendly plastic bottle. On the way back, I passed the attic. I opened the door. I turned on the light.
"SHUT UP UP THERE."
And for the rest of the night, it was quiet.
