Noisy visitor brings a little wild indoors

The first sign of something wrong came with the scuffling sound one night in the kitchen. All was dark. We were watching TV. A movement in the kitchen suggested a footstep. Knowing the house was locked and not having heard any door open, I went to investigate.

Nothing. All was quiet. No one was there. Back to TV.

A few minutes later, a crinkling sound came from the kitchen, the ominous sound of Mouse in Plastic Grocery Bags. Damn.

We marched into the kitchen and began clawing plastic grocery bags out of the storage area. Nothing. Just way too many bags.

“If it’s a mouse, we can’t do anything tonight,” I said. “We’ll have to trap it tomorrow.”

We went up to bed. Click, click, click. Sounded like little claws on our hardwood floor. That’s a bold mouse.

“I think I saw it,” my husband said. “Yeah?”

“It was big for a mouse.” “How big?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have my lenses in. Big.” Crap. A rat.

“Well, we aren’t going to trap it now,” I said. “We’ll get to it tomorrow.”

The next day I went jogging. As I got to the last stretch, my cell phone rang. I came to a halt, panting and took the call. “Yes?”

It was my daughter, sounding a bit frantic. “That mouse is tearing the place up!” “What?!”

“It’s ripping stuff up in the newspaper bags!” “What do you mean?” “It’s digging around!” It didn’t make much sense to me. How much noise could a mouse make? Digging around? Mice usually keep quiet. Quiet and destructive and gross.

“Just leave it alone,” I said. “I’m almost home.”

Once I was home, all seemed to be normal. No digging noises. Nothing out of place. Weird.

“I see it on the steps,” my daughter said. “It’s a chipmunk.”

Ah.

Someone at our house must have left the back door open that one Friday, and a curious chipmunk must have scampered inside. Once in, it couldn’t get out. It also couldn’t find food or dig for shelter. And monsters (we) roamed its new environment. It must have been one scared chipmunk.

Back at our house, someone called, “It went upstairs!”

I bounced up the steps. No chipmunk.

“It’s not here,” my husband said from one of the bedrooms.

I opened the linen closet door. There on the floor cringed the little creature. Our eyes met. Then it flattened itself on its belly and pushed itself inside a rolled up bath mat. I could see its little hind legs.

“Get the cat carrier,” I called.

One was quickly produced. I used a roll of toilet paper to block one end of the bath mat while quickly cramming the other end into the carrier. I closed the door on the terrified creature.

My husband took the carrier outside and pointed it toward the area where the chipmunks seemed to congregate. He opened the carrier door. Nothing.

I looked at the carrier. Tiny claws were wrapped around the air holes on the side. The chipmunk must have thought this was The End and was watching for the monster to come and finish it off.

I walked to the front of the container. “Go on.”

The little body bounded out. The animal turned, looked at me, then quick as a blink, it dived across the basil and ducked under the fence.

We haven’t seen any more inside the house since.