This site got me thinking about squirrels.
Some years back we lived in an old ranch style house in Lakewood. We didn’t know until after we sold the house to somebody else that the previous owner had blown gray matter all over the place, but that’s a different story and will wait for a different time.
About the second year we were there I started hearing noises in the attic. Investigation revealed that there was a squirrel living up there. I fixed the hole in the fascia board he had chewed and figured that’s the end of it.
No way. That sucker was back in the next day. Somebody said try moth balls. Son of a bitch tossed the moth balls out the hole and into the back yard. I waited with a pellet gun for him to come out. No luck.
I waited in the attic with a flashlight and a pellet gun. No luck.
It got worse. At three in the morning, he and all his friends would chase each other around the attic above my bedroom. Then, they would start scratching the insulation off of the sheetrock. Scritch, scritch, scritch. For hours. While I’m supposed to be sleeping.
Providence has a way of interfering. I got a call from a client in Kansas City. He had a couple of extra dollars to spend and thought of me. I like that in a person. But it made me curious. What do you do?
“I’m a trapper,” he said.
My smart ass answer was, “well, maybe you can tell me how to trap squirrels in my attic.”
“My specialty,” he rejoined.
He explained to me that he is an urban wildlife expert. He tells me what kind of trap to get, where to put it and what to bait it with. He further explains that I should not do my repairs to the fascia until I go two weeks without catching a squirrel.
I follow the instructions to the letter, catch 13 squirrels over a two week period, go two dry weeks with no squirrels and replace the board with the hole in it. I’m one happy camper. I decide to call my buddy in KC and thank him for the perfect advice.
“What’d you do with the squirrels?” he asked.
I told him how I didn’t have the inclination to kill them, so I took them to a park in Little Rock where I figured they would have lots of friends. Plus, I assumed that if they could get across the river, up the ridge, over two freeways, numerous city streets and back to my house, the deserved to live in my attic.
“Oh no.” was all he could say.
“Why, what’s wrong,” I asked.
“Well,” he said with a sigh, “You have to kill ‘em. Once they learn how to chew into somebody’s attic you can’t keep them out. And, once you’ve trapped ‘em, you’ll never trap them again. You’ve caused somebody a real problem.”
So, if you live in the Quapaw Quarter Historic District and you have a problem with squirrels in your historic house, please, please know that I am truly sorry. Really, I am.