I've heard this advice often, and I must say I follow it regularly. I look for unexpected opportunities everywhere.
One such opportunity arose for me as I sat completing paperwork at my dining room table.
"To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left!" I belted out to new favorite song on my V-Day cd.
Shift Shift. I barely heard the dishes in the sink settling as I continued my duet with Beyonce.
Rustle Rustle Shift.
Hmm. That's weird. Dishes don't sound like that.
Rustle Rustle Shift CRASH. I got up to investigate what in the world was going on in the kitchen. The walls were thin and the neighbors were probably cooking in their own kitchen.
Rustle Rustle.
Sounds like it's under the sink. In the cabinet.
Cluelessly, I opened the cabinet door and immediately spotted a fluffy brown tail jumping around my bottle of Windex.
"AHHH!" I slammed the cabinet shut with a bang and ran back out to the living room just as my hunting dog came to investigate why I was making such a fuss.
I quickly grabbed her leash and my phone and ran outside. A killer squirrel was under my kitchen sink. I was not going to hang around and wait for it to push open a heavy wooden door to attack me!
As I called my father from the front yard, he assured me the squirrel was trapped and told me to go back in.
"Back in? Are you crazy?"
"It can't get you. Just go back in. You need to get the number for animal control. They'll send somebody out to trap it."
"Really?"
"Yes. Now go get the phone book. Call the non-emergency police number."
"Why the police?"
"Because they'll send an animal control officer out."
"You mean the animal control officer is a real police officer?"
"Yes. Now go back in."
"Alright. Thanks dad. I'll call you later."
Hmm. A real police officer? As in uniform, buzz cut, and gun? Sweet.
All cowardice forgotten at the prospect of having a hottie in my house, I bolted upstairs to my place and barged in. Dad was right. The squirrel was not getting out. I called animal control and was told someone would be over within the hour.
The next 30 minutes were a frenzy of clothes flying, brushes brushing, and makeup doing its thing. Next was the house. I couldn't let a police officer show up with the house a mess! Brooms, sponges, Swiffers. Soon both the house and myself were presentable.
In all of my frantic preparation, It took me a while to realize that I hadn't heard anything from under the kitchen sink in 20 minutes. Uh oh. I hope he doesn't show up and charge me with filing a false police report instead of asking me on a date!
BZZZZ.
He's here. Oh my God!
I buzzed the animal control officer up to my place, heart pumping at the prospect...
Ten minutes later I had good news for you and good news for me.
The good news for me was that my squirrel had gone back out the hole he came in. And I was able to patch it up.
The good news for you? While the animal control officer wasn't really my type, she was cute.
I figure some guy in the general area could benefit from that information. Now all you have to do is catch my squirrel.
And for those of you who don't live near me, I can only offer this advice: be looking. Always be looking. Even if it means you make an ass of yourself. No one will know but the readers of your blog.
One such opportunity arose for me as I sat completing paperwork at my dining room table.
"To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left!" I belted out to new favorite song on my V-Day cd.
Shift Shift. I barely heard the dishes in the sink settling as I continued my duet with Beyonce.
Rustle Rustle Shift.
Hmm. That's weird. Dishes don't sound like that.
Rustle Rustle Shift CRASH. I got up to investigate what in the world was going on in the kitchen. The walls were thin and the neighbors were probably cooking in their own kitchen.
Rustle Rustle.
Sounds like it's under the sink. In the cabinet.
Cluelessly, I opened the cabinet door and immediately spotted a fluffy brown tail jumping around my bottle of Windex.
"AHHH!" I slammed the cabinet shut with a bang and ran back out to the living room just as my hunting dog came to investigate why I was making such a fuss.
I quickly grabbed her leash and my phone and ran outside. A killer squirrel was under my kitchen sink. I was not going to hang around and wait for it to push open a heavy wooden door to attack me!
As I called my father from the front yard, he assured me the squirrel was trapped and told me to go back in.
"Back in? Are you crazy?"
"It can't get you. Just go back in. You need to get the number for animal control. They'll send somebody out to trap it."
"Really?"
"Yes. Now go get the phone book. Call the non-emergency police number."
"Why the police?"
"Because they'll send an animal control officer out."
"You mean the animal control officer is a real police officer?"
"Yes. Now go back in."
"Alright. Thanks dad. I'll call you later."
Hmm. A real police officer? As in uniform, buzz cut, and gun? Sweet.
All cowardice forgotten at the prospect of having a hottie in my house, I bolted upstairs to my place and barged in. Dad was right. The squirrel was not getting out. I called animal control and was told someone would be over within the hour.
The next 30 minutes were a frenzy of clothes flying, brushes brushing, and makeup doing its thing. Next was the house. I couldn't let a police officer show up with the house a mess! Brooms, sponges, Swiffers. Soon both the house and myself were presentable.
In all of my frantic preparation, It took me a while to realize that I hadn't heard anything from under the kitchen sink in 20 minutes. Uh oh. I hope he doesn't show up and charge me with filing a false police report instead of asking me on a date!
BZZZZ.
He's here. Oh my God!
I buzzed the animal control officer up to my place, heart pumping at the prospect...
Ten minutes later I had good news for you and good news for me.
The good news for me was that my squirrel had gone back out the hole he came in. And I was able to patch it up.
The good news for you? While the animal control officer wasn't really my type, she was cute.
I figure some guy in the general area could benefit from that information. Now all you have to do is catch my squirrel.
And for those of you who don't live near me, I can only offer this advice: be looking. Always be looking. Even if it means you make an ass of yourself. No one will know but the readers of your blog.
2 comments:
Excellent story. I love how you can switch from terror victim to seductress in a nanosecond.
Squirrels are *cute*. And police officers - well, I tend to prefer brains over brawn...
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