The Exterminator Cometh

Well. In a way he did.

After spending the night plagued by rat dreams (ahaha. yeah thats brilliant) involving the character Jim Halpert from the American Office literally pinging them into my very face, I awoke at 6am to Mr Squirrel (I'm going to go with squirrel for now, as the alternative is too horrible to consider) having yet another raving squirrel party. '4 in a night?' I moan, 'Please, Mr Squirrel, turn off your favourite record (entited 'scratchy scratch scratch, oh yeah all up your wall', with the limited edition secret track 'scuttle about, near your feet then SUDDENLY BY YOUR FACE')
I went to go sleep on the couch, but even with the gentle lull of the New York early morning traffic, I somehow couldn't really drift off. During this emotional and rather frightening time, I kept what little sanity I had by moaning to myself under my breath, clutching my pillow, '9:30. He'll be here. He'll be here and all will be well.' Its at that point I realised that fur coat makers are very misunderstood. They are not cruel people. They are simply people who have spent 2 nights or more with a squirrel in their wall. By about 7am, I was ready to gouge him. And if I could then turn gouging into a lovely hat, or a glove perhaps, and a jolly profit too, well, happiness for everyone.

But, eventually, like a magical glittery ball of hope, 9:30 rolled around. And I heard footsteps on the stairs. It was the first noise I'd heard all night where I didn't want the creator of it to die. I rushed to the door like a child, and in he came. The man who was going to kill the squirrel. I fought the desire to kiss him roughly on the mouth, and instead showed him into my den of unrest. All would be well. All would be bloody well.. well.
And then he opened his mouth.
'ahh yeeees, you see she is still, i hare putting have poison but thee squail she is not gone? I think perhaps I need the cajje'.
Now you have to understand here. I've been awake for a dangerous amount of night (i know i've not broken any records here but dammit i need 8 hours or I fold like a napkin in a damp sink), my ears had betrayed me to my very core all night long, and I literally had NO idea what he just said. None. As I try to process any semblence, I recognised the word 'poison' and the word 'still', and I think 'squail' means 'not rat'. All of these things are positive, so I try to stay calm.
'Yes.' I say anxiously, 'yes its been scratching all night. What can you do?'
For a moment he does nothing, and then, for some reason, he strokes the wall, slowly but firmly. As in, if this were a film, he would be mortal enemies with the squirrel and that stroke would signify 'ah yes old friend. Here we are again'. I'm too tired for this.
'Can you get rid of it?' I ask, a bit louder, 'and', I pause, not sure if i want to know the answer to the next bit, 'is it a squirrel or a rat?'
He continues to look at the wall, thoughtfully. Perhaps squirrels only go for certain coloured walls? 'She scratch, yes?'
She? She?? I'm not prepared to go into the mental attributes of a man who calls his vermin prey to be 'she', but essentially I'm guessing some people in this profession don't have a lot of job satisfaction, and I don't think he was one of them.
'Yes, she- it, scratches. All night. In the wall.' I point to which part of the room is the wall, in case I'm not making myself very clear.
He breathes in, and shakes his head 'is no rat. Vairy differe sound for rat'
This to me, seems to be the same logic as the 'squirrels don't poo' argument of yesterday, but I'm so happy with the answer that I'm not about to go looking for trouble.
'Oh good! Erm, so.. what happens now?'
'I jave to get the caj'
'the...?'
'the caj. For squail. the caj.'
'oh, a- the, the cage! Yes. erm, great.'
And after taking one more long look at that wall, he stormed out again like a wonderful spanish superhero, and I let out a sigh of relief, and put some water on to boil until he came back.
The water boiled. I put it in a cup. I looked at the door. I put a tea bag in. I stirred it round. I looked at the door. I went to get the milk from the fridge. I looked out of the window. I poured milk into the cup. I checked the door still existed. I put the milk back in the fridge. I checked the window was still there. Suddenly, and rather conveniently, I really really needed a cup of tea.
He wasn't coming back, was he? No. No he wasn't.

Then I had to go to work, leave my squirrel's rave nest and just pray that somehow, it would all sort of be fixed by the time I got back. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't. When I got in I was greeted by the sound I now know as squirrels, predrinking. And I can hear it still, as I type this to you good people. I think you should just take a second right now, just to close your eyes and listen for the beautiful beautiful sound of no squirrels. Never again will I take it for granted. If I could buy it on audiotape, I would. Why God? Why me? Its because I don't bloody believe in you isn't it? Clever git.