Ode to Scratchy

For several months, we were haunted by the pitter-patter of little feet and scratchy noises emanating from the attic. We thus fondly referred to the unknown thing as Scratchy. Aaron, as landlord, called up the "Critter Catchers" to determine the nature of the problem (i.e raccoon, chipmunk, wolverine...) and through close examination of its excrement, they deduced the animal to be a squirrel.

For an extra $50-charge they would've caught the creature, but Aaron figured he could do it himself (of course). And he did successfully trap it: he blocked its passage to the outside resulting in its untimely demise right above our bedroom. (quite melodramatic and vengeful for a rodent)

When springtime came, the lengthened days saw to the thawing of the ice and to the decomposition of Scratchy's body as well; and the home that had once been cured of Scratchy's careless dance moves now endured the wrath of his rancid ghost.

Enter: the Fellowship, nay, the Order of the Dead Squirrel (move over ghostbusters). They are an elite force that would banish the odor of destruction and decay, literally.

(That's my husband on the left wearing my swimming goggles as part of his uniform)

Below: the grandmaster-catcher carrying top-of-the-line equipment

Victory: target exhumed

Scratchy: May you rest in peace, babe.