I’m sitting on the sofa, drinking a cup of tea. My girls are sprawled around me chatting, the sun is shining, the snow is glistening. Peace.
In the meantime my husband, Andy, is doing battle with his arch nemesis, the squirrel that lives in our attic. I did suggest he should leave him there as it is snowing – in Georgia – this is a southern squirrel we are talking about, surely he can’t survive out there? Andy has trudged all around the house, slipping and sliding looking for evidence of an entry point…footprints in the snow? Am I married to a closet forensic scientist? Then he dragged the dry/wet vac. into the attic to clear up the nest and set a trap using peanut butter – that makes sense squirrels eat nuts, right?
Then suddenly way in the distance, I hear a frantic cry for help! The girls, the dogs and I fly up the stairs to rescue Andy. Has he put his foot through the ceiling? Got his arm caught in the trap? Been attacked by a pissed off squirrel? We fly into the bedroom heading for the attic ladder and I start shouting back, “It’s OK – we’re coming. Hang on we can help.” Then a voice comes from the bathroom. “Um, there’s no toilet paper in here…” Husbands…..