I’m still Chillin’ with the Weasel

People always tell you that truth is stranger than fiction. It is people. You can’t make up the stuff that happens to me. You just can’t.

It all started on Wednesday morning. 6 am to be exact. I remember the time because I didn’t have to wake up til 8am and yet… the sounds of  squeaking and the claws frantic running across the tile alerted me that there was something afoot.

This is not the first time I have been awoken to those sounds. I live near the woods, it’s cold out, critters get in. It is, however, the first time that the critter turned out to be one of these: my friend

Yup. A weasel. Blurry eyed and uncaffinated, I watched as the cat failed to capture the bugger and chase said critter into my bathroom. I did the next logical thing. I facebooked about it.  There were three plans of action that the ever wise Facebook list of friends, that were up at that ungodly hour, gave me.

1. Call the Game Warden.

2. Find a way to shoo the bugger out.

3. Run like hell.

Bearing in mind that I didn’t have any coffee in my system, I went with option 2.

What could go wrong?
What could go wrong?

As my lovely drawing illustrates, there is only one way this could go down once I opened the bathroom door. He would follow my carefully made path and run back outside to tell of his adventures in the big scary house and warn all his weasel friends to never come here.

At first, the plan was working beautifully.

Almost there!
Almost there!

But, just as every plan in my life does, things changed. The little bugger decided to jump the last chair and head to, you guessed it…


Smart choice.
Smart choice.

He went right towards the kids room. And the cat. Now, fortunately, the kids were with their father or this could have got messy. I followed after him with my broom to shoo him out the door I had still had open that was letting out all the heat, when he ducked under the door and into the bedroom and my waiting cat. Well, yes, hissing and chasing ensued until I lost the thing again. The hissing it was making indicated it, too, was not happy to be in my house.


scary weasle


Perhaps it’s time I tried calling that Game Warden after all. When I learned that the Game Warden had called in sick and the alternate was not available, I called animal control who doesn’t deal with wild animals. Of course not. But they did give me a number to a local trapper who could help.

In the meantime, I went back into the bedroom with my broom (after shutting the front door. brrr). That’s when  I saw the bugger run under the door of my water heater tank closet. As fast as I could, I barricaded the door since there is about an inch or so clearance at the bottom. The trapper couldn’t show until later that afternoon, so for the rest of day it was me, the cat and the weasel.



When the trapper showed, he had a trap baited with beaver meat. Bloody beaver meat to be more specific. Those things like blood. *shiver. Then he left the traps to work.

He left his meat then he left me. Story of my life. Hahahahaha! (I kid, I kid)

I had done all I could do, right? Well, I guess I could have tried option 3 and run, but with 5 feet of snow, it makes it hard to run.

There is no where to run to, except into a snow bank.
There is no where to run to, except into a snow bank.


I checked the trap this morning. Guess what? No weasel. The thing has escaped. To where, I have no idea. Today I begin the fun game of Where’s the Weasel?

wheres weasel

Can’t. Make. This. Stuff. Up.


Danielle Bannister, Author and unwilling weasel owner.


11 thoughts on “I’m still Chillin’ with the Weasel”

  1. I’m still trying to figure out if I missed something. The weasel was trapped in the water heater closet… the trapper came in bearing meat for a trapped weasel, but left without the weasel he was supposed to be trapping.

  2. I’m gonna write a children’s book about the weasel I’m going to call It the “crazy author and the weasel” I need some beta readers asap

  3. How did it get I’m the house? Could of the cat mortally wounded it and it’s dead In the house some where. That’s scary that that the field? mice like Beaver meat?

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