About a month ago, you all might remember when I wrote about the dinosaur/shark/bear living under my sink.
It kept Blake and I up until the wee hours of the morning, rattling beneath our hideous, yellow, vinyl flooring. At one point I was convinced that a burglar was breaking into our apartment to steal our brand new crock pot.
Confession: Our crock pot is probably my favorite thing in our apartment. Blake and I don’t really own anything valuable, with the exception of our camera. By now you know that the Nikon is permanently attached to my hand, and anyone trying to steal it would suffer irreparable consequences. It’s probably a shock that Blake wants to live with me, because we have a normal size television, and no video games. It’s our first apartment together, and most of our money goes into transportation, bills, and food. So unless a burglar is breaking into our apartment to steal my chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, there really isn’t anything of interest in our living space. (Go ahead burglar, I dare you. I have red lasers and traps set up all around my refrigerator, and you WILL be hanging by your thieving ankles if you put your grubby paws on my ice cream). We are one of those couples you hate, who would grab our box of sentimental mementos if there was a fire. Actually, Blake would probably grab his DVD collection. Other than the camera, I don’t even know what I would grab. Underwear? That’s always good to have right?
Back to the issue.
Judging my impeccable sense of hearing, and my keen eye for animal foot prints, it was most likely not a burglar, shark, dinosaur, or a bear. It was a squirrel…but how did it get there? Upon further investigation, we realized the bloody thing found its way into our floor boards by gnawing its way through the wooden garage door. That’s right, the little chompasaurus chewed off the bottom four inches on each end of the garage door, just enough for him and his little squirrely friends to squeeze through. Construction on the bottom of the garage door and two huge cinderblocks later, we had successfully prevented our intruders from entering the garage and nesting below our kitchen sink.
Fast forward six weeks.
Blake was in the bedroom last night getting ready to turn in for the night, and I was
online shopping because I hate the mall checking my email. All of a sudden, we heard it. The beast was back. The scratching, chewing, nibbling noises started, but we couldn’t figure out where. After hushing each other approximately 10 times, and communicating with some seriously eccentric hand gestures, we realized the noises were coming from…no…wait…that couldn’t be right…
THE NOISES WERE COMING FROM THE DOOR!
It was at this point that the possibility of a burglar trying to steal my cookie dough ice cream didn’t seem ludicrous. I was convinced that somebody was at our door. That, or I’ve watched WAY too many episodes of NCIS. Special Agent Gibbs (AKA Blake) tip toed over to the door, and after close inspection, we found this:
Your eyes are not playing tricks on you.
The squirrel is trying to chew his way into our bedroom.