the 4th star

Squirrel problem in the North End. They’re getting into the house through a tiny hole that leads to the attic. It’s not even the attic — it’s like a small little sublet of the attic. Regardless, it’s a situation. Not because of the obvious infestation and the issues related to everyone’s general health. No, it’s a problem because I find it gross. Disgusting. They’re rodents. Not helping matters is the fact that it’s -30 C all the time and the daylight in Winnipeg ceases at around two o’clock. Who in their right mind wants to get up on the ladder in those conditions?

To tackle the squirrel sect, I first went to the original solution. Back in the day, before my time when the Army of Alvin ruled the roost, a cat was acquired to kick them in the nuts. Mission accomplished! These days, though, the cat has little interest in hunting. She’s quite comfortable resting on her laurels. My second option was poison. After some internal debate, however, I decided to look elsewhere.

Squirrel trap. Oh yeah! On loan from CK, the trap is basically the size of the box a nice bottle of booze comes in. A little small, considering the size of the grey squirrel I’m dealing with here, but I decided to give it a go. So after several trial runs involving trapping the aforementioned cat (just joking), I placed a spoonful of organic peanut butter on the margarine container lid located inside the cage and carefully set it up in the attic. Two days in — nothing. Sweet fuck all. Not even a cat.

And then today came. A routine hike up the cold, attic stairs for a brief look-see resulted in a trapped squirrel. CATCH! Now I’m no Jack Hanna, but he/she/it sure didn’t want to be in that cage. Feisty! It wasn’t as big as I thought it was, but whatever. The son of a bitch was mine! Remembering the advice of CK, I made my way to the linen closet, grabbed a blanket (towel), and covered the trap before escorting the animal to the trunk of my Big Red Rocket of Love. A leisurely drive over the Red River (apparently, if you don’t want squirrels to come back you’re supposed to take them across bodies of water), a very awkward (and comical) release later, and I was squirrel free. I felt good. I celebrated with a chicken shawarma.

Upon my return to the North End Estate, a brief stop to drop the trap off, I heard some scratching above my head. I knew exactly what it was. That’s why, as I walked past the gate and into the backyard, I wasn’t surprised or upset, or even mad that when I looked up to where the tiny, little hole was I saw another squirrel — the big one, my original prey — scaling the stucco exterior of the house. So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh? The trap has been set. Again. Game on.

*Yes, this is where you make your 4th Star Suicide Pool (third edition) picks. Four people remain and they go by the names of Hudsy, DKUN, Masterclark, and KO. Please be mindful that you cannot select the Saints, Colts, Vikings, Patriots, Chargers, or the Bengals. Picks in the comments. And yes, I couldn’t come up with anything today.