The attic

The attic in my house is a dark, frightening, uninhabitable place that gets so hot in the summer that you can't be up there for more than 5 minutes at a time. In fact, I hadn't been up since we moved back. My excuse was the heat, but in reality, I was afraid of what I might find. 

The previous tenants,  as mentioned earlier, were less than tidy, and I didn't want to wander up there and find a depressing impenetrable mountain of discarded things. By things, I mean any object I didn't want for myself. I like treasure, but I was certain these slovenly renters had left none for their evil landlord.

There was also the bug issue. I knew cockroaches lay their eggs in attics because attics are relatively warm and see little human traffic. My wife and I were also hearing noises up there in the wee hours. We almost called the Ghost Hunters. Well, not really, but the scratching we were hearing was a little unsettling. I had to get up there, and take care of business before the problem got any worse. I climbed the rickety ladder one brisk September morning, and this is what I found:

"There's some in  here! Occupied!"

That's  right; a raccoon was living in our attic. I'd heard stories about rabies and other infectious diseases being spread by these sometimes irritable vagrants, and I was not going to be a part of it. So, I decided to leave the raccoon removal up to a pest control professional. 

I tell you how that went down in my next post.