The Squirrel Did It

As long time readers may remember, we have a squirrel living in our attic. I’ve put traps up there. I’ve put poison up there. Nothing has worked. At this point we’ve decided just to name him and start charging him rent.

99% of the time you wouldn’t know he was up there. Occasionally we’ll see him make a run for the roof when we pull into the driveway, but the only time you hear him up there is late at night, around bedtime. We’ll all be quietly lying in bed when the scratching starts. scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch … To an adult it’s mildly annoying, but to a three-year-old, it can be terrifying. Morgan was convinced that there was a monster in the attic, coming to get her. It took a couple of days, but we finally convinced her that the sound she was hearing was just the squirrel. She’s okay with that. (Personally, I wish it was a monster; they aren’t known for chewing up your wiring …)

This morning it’s just me and Morgan. Susan and Mason are off walking the marathon, and Susan decided since I’m still occasionally taking pain pills and bleeding a little that it would be best if I sat this one out. I’m okay with that.

I decided to let Morgan sleep in a little this morning, and when she came out her legs, stomach, and some of her arms were covered with self-applied artwork done with a red Sharpie. I couldn’t help but laugh and grab the camera, even though I know we’ll be scrubbing on her for an hour. When I asked her she she did it, she said:

“I didn’t. The squirrel did it.”