That’s Not My Rabid Fox, Officer

After my cricket post I decided to take a break from writing about any non-humanoids for awhile.  Then my phone rang.  It was a former client: 

“I have rats.  What should I do?”  I thought about this for awhile, but rat stew didn’t seem to be the most helpful answer.

“Call an exterminator.” I paused. “And the County.”  I stopped short of suggesting the police or the Washington Post. 

“They chewed through the living room ceiling.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s a problem all right.”

(Note to self: Do not come over to their house without a big metal hat and a gun)

“Let me know what happens.”

They did.  A few days later my phone rang.

“You wanted to know about the rats.”

“Oh, right.” (I didn’t.)

“The exterminator said he never saw anything like it.  He couldn’t figure out where they were coming from.  He was stumped.  But we are going to work on this together.”

I didn’t ask for an explanation.

My friend Joyce was here visiting.  The guest bedroom is on the attic level.

“There are crickets in your guest bedroom.”

“Oh, right,” I answered.  “There’s some kind of cricket invasion. We might call the County.”

“I’m always afraid they will crawl into my nose or ear.”

“A client of mine has rats and they are chewing through the living room ceiling.”

That was the end of cricket talk.  I know how to effectively stop intimations about subjecting houseguests to cricket attacks.

                                                                                  

This evening, my phone rang.  It was my across-the-street friend/neighbor, Linda.

“Did you know there was a fox in front of your house?”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, there was, and Josh was riding his scooter and the fox ran after him.”

“Uh, the fox doesn’t belong to me.  I think you should call the County.”

“Yeah, someone said to be careful about rabies.”

“Right.  Did you know I talked to someone who has rats chewing through the living room ceiling?”

That was the end of fox talk.  I know how to effective stop intimations about my harboring a rabid fox.

I hung up.  I told my Now Husband Dan that Linda saw a fox in front of our house.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “I saw it too.”

“Are you serious?  In front of our house?!”

“No.  Walking down our driveway.”

I did the only sensible thing I could do at that point.  I let the cat out.