So I run out of the house. I don't want to be standing there like a dolt, holding the door as a squirrel potentially runs over my feet, so I run to a pine tree out front where my kids would play and swing off a rope. I grab the rope, then tie it around the screen door handle, open the door, and keep it open from about 10 feet away. And I start to whistle- "whoot, whoot, c'mere little squirrel! Come on, come out, whoot, whoot, come on" for the next HALF AN HOUR. Nothing. No squirrel, nothing is coming out. I hear my kids' school bus go down the main road, then 5 minutes later I hear it go back up towards the school. And this is March and it's kind of cold out and I have no coat. Now, remember, my kids are still in the bathroom, and oh crap, they didn't have breakfast!! GAH!! I try peering into the house, under the sofa, behind the table, I see nothing. Now, it's really time to go to school. I come back in, make a lot of noise, open the back deck sliding door, and tell the kids to just run out. I close it, make it to the kitchen, grab their backpacks and coats, and get outta there. I make it to school, and proceed to not be able to concentrate on anything because I'm imagining this squirrel chewing my curtains, gnawing into my sofa, hiding behind the coffee maker or in the pantry- a million possibilities are running through my mind. My one neighbor teaches at the school, so I casually ask her if she's busy later and would she mind helping me get rid of a squirrel?? She told me I should go home now and see what's up. I agreed, spoke to the principal and left. I proceeded to walk around outside my house, peering in every window possible to look for evidence. Nothing! No disturbances, no mess, but no sign of the squirrel either. Eventually it was time to get the kids, so I left. I come back and gingerly open the back kitchen door and creep in, glancing back and forth, looking all over for this thing. As I turn the corner past the cabinets and look left towards the TV, I see it. It is on the floor, at the bottom of the stairs, next to a basket of toys, face in, butt out, not moving. I grab the phone, inch out, and call the nice animal control guy. He shows up like 5 minutes later. I lead him back in the house, show him the body, and run out. He comes out and says, "Yup, that's it. It's dead." How lovely. This creature chose my home for its last moments and its final resting place. Bleh. The guy got his gloves, I gave him a plastic bag, he scooped it up, and left. What the hell was that all about?? To this day, I do not know when it got in, how long it was there, how it died, NO IDEA. I guess I can laugh about it now, but it sure wasn't a pleasant feeling.
I often find myself having to "MacGuyver" it out of situations because it's just me. You remember that show with they guy who could diffuse a bomb with a paper clip, mascara and dental floss? It's like that for me more often than you'd think.
"OK, OK, calm down, breathe, what am I gonna do??" Somehow it usually works out. Makes for funny stories too.