We never addressed the whole ghost/opossum situation before I unexpectedly had to leave for medical duty. And the boyfriend chose not to deal with it while we were gone because he can sleep through just about anything noise-wise.
But that all changed last night.
I'd heard rumblings overhead every night since we've been back, but I'm an insomniac and it wasn't loud enough to wake the dogs. Then last night all hell broke loose up in the attic. I haven't a clue what caused it, but it was like an opossum rave was going on all night. The dogs went berserk, jumping on and off the bed. The one thing the boyfriend can't sleep through is motion, so he'd wake up enraged. Things would settle down for a bit and everyone would go back to sleep and then a few minutes later it would all happen again. All night.
This morning the boyfriend was sleepless and angry and he issued a ultimatum...
"Call an exterminator."
I called several, in fact. I don't know what it says about Bakersfield but each of them told me they were swamped and it would be a week at least before someone could come out.
But then I received a returned call. From Joe Allen.
I liked him immediately - that's the name of one of my favorite restaurants in New York. Turns out that's not the best criterion to judge an exterminator.
There was a knock at the door and there stood Joe Allen, a small dumpy man with yellowed buck teeth and a goofy smile. He said he was there to help, which I found oddly comforting.
"So tell me about your rat problem" he said.
It wasn't rats I explained, I thought it was a opossum.
His smile faded.
"I don't really deal with opossums" he said. "I specialize in rats".
I did not know exterminators specialized, like doctors. Good to know.
"I can take a look at it and confirm it's a opossum, and then if I can't do anything for you I can give you the name of a opossum expert."
I don't really need an "expert". This isn't the fucking Natural History Museum. Just catch the damn opossum.
I showed him the spot outside where we believed he was getting in, a gap near where a trellis attaches to the house. It had obvious claw marks around it and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out it was bigger than a rat. Which is a good thing, because the one thing Joe Allen is not is a rocket scientist.
The entry portal confirmed, it was now time to head up into the lair. The access panel to the attic is in the closet of the guest room, and as I cleared out some space, Joe Allen fetched his ladder. He put up the ladder and I popped the lid and then he started stammering...
"Um, OK, I guess I'll just go up and, um, y'know, see what I can see..."
I turned to look at him and that's when I saw it.
Fear.
Joe Allen doesn't "deal" with opossums because he's terrified of them.
He crept up the ladder with his Maglight and ever so slowed peaked over the edge into the void. He scanned around a bit and then quickly jumped down the ladder.
"I better put on some gloves just in case he bites" he said as he whipped out a pair of latex gloves.
Dude... latex gloves? Have you seen the teeth on an opossum? Good luck with that.
He climbed back up the ladder, this time venturing until his upper torso was fully in the attic. He scanned around and then called down, slightly panicked...
"Do you have a big stick of some sort?"
For the love of God. I took down the wooden rod from the closet and handed it up to him and he gripped it tight at his side, like a spear.
He tried to describe what he was seeing and I finally just said the hell with it and climbed up there too.
Immediately, one thing became clear. The bigger health risk is probably not the opossum, but the 40 year old asbestos insulation. Can't imagine how the home inspector missed that. Oh, right, he never went up here.
So, it would appear this house has been Club Med for opossums - fruit trees in the backyard for a constant buffet, the house had sat vacant for over a year so there was little chance of being disturbed. Judging by the amount of opossum poop up there he (or she) had been living here for quite awhile. There were dens burrowed into the insulation and any number of places to hide.
Joe Allen seemed a little calmer.
"I expected to see them hanging from the rafters."
Really? Like Dracula? You need to get a fucking new career.
"Yup. Definitely a opossum." he said.
Brilliant. Now we knew exactly what we knew when he showed up.
Joe Allen beat a hasty retreat from the attic.
"It's definitely beyond my area of expertise" he said.
No shit. And it's not the only thing, I'm sure.
So he gave me the number for an opossum expert, an "Opossum Hunter".
More and more this is starting to resemble "Jaws". But with opossums.
He's due here shortly, so Part II tomorrow.
