Please update my resume to reflect my newfound ability to tuck point of foundation while battling extremely angry yellow jackets. For the record, the mice and snakes are also not really happy with me right now.
Why am I doing foundation repairs? Well, we have a story for that. As always, nature is not to be trusted.
Mouse
After an exciting week finding out that she had mice in her house, GirlWonder needed to do some serious abatement. When a security camera caught a tiny, but mighty, mouse red handed (red footed?) scampering across her countertop, she called an exterminator IMMEDIATELY. He came right out and got to work on evicting the critters.
They are cute enough outside. They won’t be tolerated indoors. I think that is MORE than fair. When the exterminator made it into her basement and saw the sunlight streaming in through the old stone foundation, he said, “Ma’am, here is your trouble.”
This, then, explains why I became a mason later in life. We have to stop the steady flow of field traffic directly into the house.
We got to work, and at the end of the weekend, we patted ourselves on our aching backs for a job well done.
As GirlWonder said, “Me last week: ‘Thank GOD it was mice and not rats.’”
My house: “Hold my beer.”
Monday morning at 5 a.m., my phone rang and it was GirlWonder. That is NEVER good. Regardless of their address, a phone call in the wee hours from a child of any age immediately seizes the heart.
I answered the phone to hear “Mom, there’s a BAT in my HOUSE!”
I immediately sighed in relief, and then sucked that in because — still — it’s a bat. In her HOUSE.
There are few things that strike terror into the human soul quite like the sight of a bat loose in your home. It always starts the same way: confusion. “Was that a bird? A shadow? A hallucination brought on by too much espresso?” Then it swoops again, and you know. Oh, you know. That’s no moth. That’s a bat, and it has absolutely no respect for your property rights.
The first instinct is, of course, to duck. Forget dignity, forget furniture — you immediately become a professional gymnast. Bend. Twist. Leap backwards over the sofa.
Then comes the frantic search for protection: a broom, a towel, maybe even a strainer you slap onto your head like a medieval knight preparing for battle. At this point, you are no longer an adult. You are a frantic cartoon character.
If you live with others, chaos multiplies. Someone will inevitably shout, “Don’t hurt it!” while another yells, “Kill it!” and a third person is already halfway out the door, abandoning the family for their own survival. Pets, meanwhile, are useless. Dogs bark, cats stare in fascination, and you’re left alone to defend civilization.
Call
In the case of GirlWonder when her handsome husband is already at work, you call your dad. If you get his voicemail, you call your mom, although that call can be filed under “not helpful.”
Sure, my first instinct was to leap out of bed and speed over to her house to help. Then, I realized that would just be TWO of us screaming at the bat and running.
I was the voice of calm and reason — from my bat-free home.
I said all the required things: “It’s more afraid of you than you are of it.”
To which GirlWonder said, “Bet me!”
Eventually, after a series of flailing swats and ducking maneuvers, she was able to see that the bat was not a bloodthirsty villain — it was just a confused mouse with wings. Still, reasoning does little to calm your heartbeat when it does a surprise flyby mere inches from your face.
Eventually, the bat flew into the den — a room with DOORS. She slammed them all shut and sighed in relief. Then, with trembling courage, she hoped against hope that the bat would find a way OUT the same way it came IN. Spoiler alert: That did not happen. The bat had clearly signed a long-term lease.
This is where “call Dad” comes in very handy. Dad, of course, went over after work and quickly located the bat tucked into a window, snoozing away. Taking the shirt off his back, literally, Mr. Wonderful scooped it up and removed it to a shady tree so it could make its way home — preferably to its home and not back to hers.
The next day, she called a chimney expert to discuss capping all four of the chimneys. While I’m good at figuring out how to repair foundations, I draw the line at rooftop work.
She is also armed with extra brooms and tennis rackets until then — just in case.
