We found a squirrel in the house yesterday. The little, grey, fuzzy rodent was hiding behind the bookcase in the living room. It was a scene from a slap-stick schtick. Martin and I were running around the house with a broom and some towels, trying to herd the dang thing out the door.
The, e-hem, herding dog was cowering in the bedroom. After chasing this dang thing around the house (living room, kitchen, office…) it finally ended up in the bedroom, then the master bath. Mind you, the master bath in this house is more like a closet. Cozy for one person. Snug with 2. And when you add a terrified rodent into the mix, it’s a tad chaotic.
Martin’s first comment when we cornered it was, “Honey, here’s your cue to stand up on the toilet and start screaming.” After a venom filled look, pointed back in his direction, we got down to trying to trap it with the waste basket and towels.
Guess what? When that darn thing ran over my foot, I started squealing. Squealing like a girl-y. Sigh. Another self image shattered.
By the way, that fluffy tail was really pretty. I wonder what it would look like spun…