MY HOUSE, Mich. – *Sigh.* I really thought the squirrel story would be a one-time thing. A somewhat humiliating homeowner rite of passage.
“Remember when that squirrel got into your house and you went all crazy? That was hilarious!” We laugh, life moves on. Peace and coexistence.
Well, that lasted a full three days. On Tuesday, my house was invaded once again, this time with a much more mysterious conclusion.
UPDATE --> The squirrel mystery has been solved. Click here to read the final part of this saga.
If you missed it last week: A squirrel broke into my house. Long story short, my wife screamed, he hung upside down over a vase, I chased him with a blanket -- it was a whole thing. You know, normal guy-squirrel stuff. If you want the full gory details, click here.
Anyways, later that day, a critter infiltration expert came by and (we thought) identified the problem. He said the squirrel had gotten into a tiny crawl space through the ash deposit vent behind our fireplace. Then it could find the basement, mosey on up to the kitchen, terrorize my family, etc., etc.
His explanation made sense to me, so we had him patch everything up. So long, squirrel, I’ll remember my dominance over you fondly. A happy ending to a journey nobody asked for nor wanted.
Not so fast.
Since so many people enjoyed Squirrel Tails 1, I feel compelled to share an update: Things have taken a turn for the worse.
I was in the newsroom Tuesday (the safe, gloriously animal-free Local 4 newsroom) when my phone buzzed. Maybe the Tigers had given up another run or the mail was being delivered on my Ring camera? Nope, it was my wife.
“There was a loud noise in the kitchen. I don’t know if it was outside or not.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Squirrels are very much not welcome inside this household. I thought we made that really clear during the whole running-through-the-house-screaming with-a-blanket thing. How could any animal get that disturbing image out of its head in three short days? I sure haven’t.
Before we get to yesterday, I have to clarify: My wife does not have a history of false critter reports. In fact, I’ve located a squirrel in our home every time she claimed there was one. She’s a reliable source.
I would also like to stress that our home is not some beacon of wildlife disarray. I know the only thing most of you know about it is that two(ish?) animals have gotten in, but I promise, it has solid walls and a roof and everything.
Let’s see: job, wife, house. OK, now that we’ve established I’m very much a respectable adult who makes good life choices, we can get to the part where I tell you stories that suggest the exact opposite.
When I got home yesterday, I saw my wife peeking down from our bedroom window. She waved, no doubt wondering if I had it in me to conquer another furry challenger.
I unlocked the back door (it worked so well last time), the side door, and the front door. I figured I should maximize the number of potential escape routes -- you know, for the squirrel.
Stepping slowly in through the front door, nothing seemed amiss. No mess, no loud noises, no obvious signs of unwanted inhabitance. I chose to turn right -- maybe he went back to admire his favorite vase.
Here’s the thing: The last time I crept around my home looking for a squirrel (I can’t believe I just typed that), I knew I was going to find one. My wife had actually seen it. This time, the intel was a bit hazy.
In a weird way, that made it worse. The unknown is scary, squirrels are not.
I peered into every nook and cranny. Thought about how disastrous it could be to lie down and look under the couch, but did it anyway. He was not there. He was not in the trash. He was not in my boots.
As I approached the front door again, having already cleared the bathroom, living room, and kitchen, I started to wonder if this had been a false alarm.
That’s when I saw them: The last thing anyone wants to find during a squirrel sweep.
Wood chips. Freaking wood chips.
Intense, I know. My wife must have heard the maniac clawing at the underside of our basement door, trying to get up to the kitchen.
Thank you, door. You’ve always been my favorite.
I immediately called the Very Nice Critter Man back, but there was no answer. I left a message and tried a different company. They said someone could be here by 4 p.m. Wednesday.
Ugh, that’s so far away. Of course the animal waited until all the Critter Control folks closed up for the day. He’s so smart, that jerk.
I accepted the appointment, but in the meantime, formulated a plan. I didn’t want to let a creature with door-shredding claws spend the whole night in my basement -- we have, like, cushions and stuff down there.
Luckily, our basement door is very conveniently placed when it comes to small animal removal. It’s directly across from the side door that leads outside -- about three feet away. When you open the two doors, they completely block the path to the front door.
All I needed to do was block the way to the kitchen and it would form a tunnel directly from the basement steps to outside. See? I was born for this.
I grabbed the plastic lid to our outdoor storage bin and a stack of unused flooring tiles. Together, they blocked the path to the kitchen, as long as I was there to hold them.
I threw open the door and waited. And waited. I made that clicking sound with my tongue that works on cats -- I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Just a man and his makeshift wall, waiting for a squirrel.
Nothing. Anxiety gave way to impatience. There was absolutely no sign of movement in the shred of light I could see across the basement floor.
Anyone who knows me can see exactly where this is going. I’m not very good at just letting things go, so shutting the basement door and going about my evening with this unresolved was not an option.
I guess I’m going in.
You might think that was not a bright decision. But what if I told you I strapped on heavy boots and wielded a Rondell White-signed baseball bat? Changes everything, I know.
The basement had seemed so warm and welcoming while I was down there that very morning. Now it was ominous and creepy, rabid-squirrel-shaped shadows in every corner.
I snuck down the stairs like Harry Potter entering the Chamber of Secrets, half expecting to find a smaller but equally terrifying creature. Eventually I reached the bottom, turned on the light. Somehow I hadn’t really thought this far ahead, but, I’d already gotten this far, so...
Sweating through my heavy winter jacket and swishy pants (they were for rabies protection, obviously), I made my way very slowly around the basement, inspecting every visible space with a flashlight before committing to another step.
It was very tense, and I was ready to sprint back upstairs at the first sign of anything bigger than my old squirrel nemesis. But as far as I could tell, nothing was down there.
Great, so he knows how to freely come and go. That’s just perfect.
The only obvious clue he left involves one of the stars of last week’s adventure. Remember Maizie, the somewhat sleepy guard dog? She has since returned to my wife’s parents, but her freshly washed bed had been placed neatly atop her folded-up crate. Now, it was strewn across the middle of the floor.
Don’t taunt me, squirrel. You were foiled by a door. Your demise will be swift.
I returned from my hunt empty handed, and as of this writing, I have no idea what was downstairs, or where it came from.
Here’s what I do know: Derick Hutchinson does not want to become the squirrel guy. Friday’s story was supposed to be an outlier -- nobody expected or wanted a sequel. I’d rather stick to sports and news. The squirrel beat kind of chose me.
Hopefully the mystery will be solved for good this afternoon. Hopefully the rest of 2023 is very boring for my doors. Hopefully the neighbors didn’t see me slinking around my house with a homemade hazmat suit and a baseball bat.
Dozens of you reached out this weekend with advice, and I’m grateful. I clearly need all the help I can get. But it’s time to hand this over to the professionals, and get it taken care of once and for all.
Or at least until next week.
