You’re sitting on the couch downstairs alone in the house, leaning over typing on a laptop on the coffee/conference/workshop table in front of you in relative silence.
Suddenly you hear what sounds like splashing upstairs. Splashing water. UPstairs. No one here. But you. And a cat, who you can see is NOT upstairs, but down here with you.
There’s more splashing up there. For real. Splashing water in this little house. There’s a full bath at the top of the stairs off to the side, but the tub and sink are empty.
That leaves the bidet’ and jacuzzi. Just kidding. But that does leave a throne.
So you intrepidly creak up the old wooden stairs to the top landing and hear the splashing getting louder and more frantic.
The only things that it could be? An alligator or rat that came up through the sewer pipes into the toilet bowl? Myth becomes reality? In any case, it can’t be anything good. And even in the best case, in your unfortunate experience of being one called upon, and dutifully answering, for acts of bravery when needed, it’s going to be something weird, gross, or both.
You turn the corner, pass through the doorway with the terlit behind the door to your right, and cautiously peek behind the door to see what’s swimming around in your pool.
And you see a chipmunk scrambling around in circles, trying unsuccessfully to escape the ultimate chipmunk trap, apparently: a commode.
Thankfully, a clean garderode. I wanted to grab my phone/camera and take a short video or photo, but I was more worried about the safety of that animal. I didn’t want to give it any more time to get out of there and start running around the house than I can.
So I grabbed the guy out of there like a chimp swatting at a banana and got him first try, with little water, amazingly. But I could feel his heart vibrating away at 1000rpm. Half of him was warm, and half of him was wet and all of him was squirmy rolled up in the front of the t-shirt I was wearing. I don’t know why I didn’t think to use a towel to wrap him in. I guess because I wasn’t planning on making him a permanent member of the household.
I ushered him downstairs, through the living room, through the toy room, through the kitchen, and out the back door to the patio, and then to freedom: the BACK YARD. Where it was off to pop up in my neighbor’s:
So now I have to wonder: how did that chipmunk get into my upstairs toilet?
I keep my house clean and tidy and the only insect problem I have is with some wool moths that ravenously devouring a nice wool rug of mine. I’ve been trying everything. But this place is spic -n-span.
And even then, we’d be talking about mice, or bugs or something. Not a chipmunk. They aren’t like that. Squirrels, yes, but only if they zero in on a bag of nuts or seed through a screen window or something. And they’re going to gorge themselves, not politely use the facilities. And I have a bathroom on the first floor for visitors anyway. Why was he taking the grand tour?
Logic says that the cat is a culprit because when there’s trouble, there’s usually a cat around. But the cat that lives here isn’t much bigger than a chipmunk, at 9 pounds. And she’s no huntress. She has trouble taking down a moth.
However, she has been known to catch a couple of mice and bring them indoors, as some sort of tribute to the cause. And I do mean A COUPLE(2) Two. And they were dead and little church/door mice from the back yard. Who probably had COVID-19, and will be counted as such.
And when the cat does manage to bag a trophy bug, she meows and carries on like she just shattered some type of world record.
Chipmunks don’t climb trees like squirrels. They hang out on the ground. So for it to come in through an upstairs hole is out of the picture. It had to come, or be brought in, from downstairs. And then chased or scrambled or was carried, upstairs. But some other things would have to have happened for these scenarios to play out. This is starting to feel like an Encyclopedia Brown book.
I’m going to do some more research and see if I can figure out how the chipmunk got into the lavatory basin. Did it jump, thinking I’m putting the lid down, being a bachelor? My ex has seen to it that no related females may visit me. So: lids up.
The cat has a few habits that should be mentioned. One is that she has 2 little play “mice” that I gave her years ago, have been long-eviscerated and now are little square scraps of shag with a small strip attached to resemble a “tail.’
She loves these things. I have put out about 10 others over the years and she only like these two eyesores. Day-glo pink and green.
Notice the tendency for her to leave them in bowls. Her feeding bowl(s)? I’ve caught her drinking from the potty much to my disgust. Because she then licks herself and coats herself in my toilet water. And licks me and used to lick Cecelia, which has to have some things that are best not viewed microscopically.
How did the chipmunk get into the house? I have a front and back door. I’m the only one who opens them and I hope I would certainly notice a chipmunk scurry by my feet, especially being chased by a cat. And I don’t see 13-year old Rebecca chasing much around here unless it’s me and she thinks I may be leaving her. Traumatized from the last move.
I don’t think Rebecca took her up there, got up on the rim, and tossed this clawed and toothed animal, panicking for its life, into the water bowl. And then calmly leave and come down here.
No matter where I live, I always seem to find these types of situations involving animals. But I think: it can’t possibly be only me.
