A mere week ago I shared in our family’s group chat a shot of a darling little red squirrel nibbling scattered seeds in adorable fashion on our deck railing. “The adults are a nuisance,” I texted, “but they’re so cute when they’re tiny.” Wrong! Days later, I cursed the pesky critters and marveled at how, even after years of home ownership, we still have hard lessons to learn.
I was ironing in our basement laundry room at 10 p.m. Thursday when an unfamiliar, horror-movie-worthy sound sharply turned my attention from the hot iron and the ’80s Pandora station I’d tuned in.
ADVERTISEMENT Scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch. WHAT was that noise? Or had I imagined it? Scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch, SCRITTTCCCCCHHHH. My spine tingled, the hair at the nape of my neck stood up and I froze, listening again in an effort to detect the disturbance’s source.
Unmistakably, it emanated from the silver tube stretching across a six-foot section from the back of our dryer to the vent on the outside wall. And the tube was shaking. Instinctively, I screamed.
And ...
nothing. Calling up the stairs, I yelled for my husband. “There’s an animal in our dryer vent!” I howled.
ADVERTISEMENT Had he ever moved so slowly? I think not. Finally present to listen and inspect, he concurred with my inexpert opinion. But it was nearly 10:30 p.
m. Weary from a long day with another early morning looming, we didn’t think of an obvious or instant solution. Whatever it was seemed to be stu.
