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.
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.
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.
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…
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.
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.
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?
Can’t. Make. This. Stuff. Up.
Danielle Bannister, Author and unwilling weasel owner.