There is a
mouse rat kangaroo horrifying creature living in my basement.
I realized this just prior to Christmas when I was working in my office in the wee hours of the morning, and I could hear the knawing, scratching noises below the floor. As discomforting as this seemed, I was at least grateful the varmint was in my basement, all dark and clay and icky, and not living in the lighter, drier, crammed-with-clutter upstairs I call home.
I heard my new downstairs neighbour several times over the holidays under various floors, so I mixed up a wee cocktail of Cheez Whiz and warfarin, summoned up my gumption, and trugged to my now creature infested basement to leave a little “welcome to the neighbourhood” snack. Apparently he wasn’t fooled, as days later the pitter patter of little feet could still occasionally be heard beneath the floor.
Now, if I may sidestep here for a moment, any reader of Harry Potter knows the best cure for a touch with Dementors is chocolate. For Christmas, my dear Goddaughter was kind enough to include Godiva chocolate truffles in my gift. I will admit it here now… while I willingly share my Christmas chocolate with my family, I will sneak away and hide the really, really good stuff for myself. And that I did. In case of Dementors, of course. After enjoying
half the box a truffle or two, I hid the remaining manna in the bottom drawer of my dresser and proceeded to share the rest of my suggary gifts over the holiday season until my children are now a bit addicted to chocolate.
So the night before last, while seemingly deep in sleep, I had a dream that my neighbour under the floorboards has made his way to the upper house and was currently eating my hidden Godiva chocolate. I woke up, and listened in the dark wondering if this could actually be real… I listened harder…. I leaned closer… nothing. And back to bed I went.
Later yesterday, I start to tell Rainbow about my silly dream, and how I was listening in the dark close to my hidden stash. “What if it wasn’t a dream?” she asked. “Or what if your like a dream psychic or something?” (In retrospect I realize this was probably just a ruse to find out where my chocolate stash is). No, I assured her. It was completely quiet. And I proceeded to open the drawer to show her the proof it was a dream…
Only to find…
A half gnawed Godiva wrapper. And no Godiva truffle in it.
kangaroo beast found and ate my Godiva chocolate. And there was no way I was going to eat the three remaining truffles, regardless of possible Dementor attacks. If you think “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”, you should see the fury of a woman whose Godiva has been tainted.
Clearly my basement neighbour had more refined taste than Cheez Whiz.
A plot was immediately hatched. The. Beast. Must. Die.
Surgery was intricately performed on my remaining truffles, their insides hollowed out with a toothpick, a new warfarin-truffle centre was carefully prepared and refilled, they were smooshed back together, rewrapped, and placed back in the box in the bottom drawer of my dresser.