The Ballad of Rocky and Me and Many Sleepless Nights

The first time I heard him I was in bed on a cold night in January ’07. I had recently got a new bed and I was excited to sleep it in. Just as I fell into the, I’m almost fully asleep state, I heard someone run above me. But no one lives above me. It runs near my closet. What the? And suddenly, that last fading bit of conscious-ness pulls me out of my almost asleep state and I snap up in bed, listening. There it is again. Oh no. Panic rips through me and I am suddenly wide awake. That was loud. That was not a mouse, or a rat. Or maybe it could be a big rat. Oh gross. Or a squirrel?

Turns out, it was a squirrel. Perhaps even a flying squirrel as one of the three exterminators who couldn’t catch this thing told me. I googled it, and Astoria doesn’t really have a large population of flying squirrels. But they couldn’t figure out how a squirrel got in, since the only opening in the roof was apparently too small for regular squirrel to fit in, but FLYING squirrels have the ability to make their bodies flat and glide through tiny spaces with their freakish arms that turn into wings. Awesome.

So Tony the exterminator came and traps were set with MY extra crunchy peanut butter as bait, and other random pellets of poison and what not. The first time Tony set the traps, (which will only catch it, not kill it) he assured me that the deed would be done within a day or two. I didn’t doubt him. I was hopeful. I asked, How will I know when it’s in the trap? He told me I’d hear the gate snap shut and then the squirrel making a racket trying to get out of the cage. Awww, I thought. Poor little guy. But he doesn’t belong there.

I listened for the snap, but it never came. I only heard that little fucker still running around in my walls having a grand old time. In the three months that followed, Tony would proceed to come back many times. We became sorta friends, only I found him really annoying and obviously bad at his job. He would say things to me in his thick Bronx accent like, “wow. It didn’t even touch the poison”, and “I can’t believe he’s not going for the nuts”, referring to the shelled peanuts we had baited in there as well. Finally he asked “are you sure you’re still hearing it?” YES. Yes, I am still hearing it.

At this point, I can’t enjoy my plush new bed I bought, because I can’t relax at night with Ms. Knocked up squirrel building a nest for her babies that she is sure to have any day now. I start sleeping in the living room, where there is no heat and a draft from the door to the balcony, but I don’t care. I can get more sleep out there then in my Squirrel Den. I begin to fantasize about the day the squirrel WILL get caught in that cage. Tony tells me he will have to drive the squirrel at least 3 miles away or else they find their way back. I find this interesting, but don’t question it. All I say is that before he takes him away I want to look at him. I want to look that Squirrel in the eye. I want to see who this was controlling my sleep intake and in turn screwing up my life.

It starts to become a joke with my friends and I, and we make up scenarios about what could be happening inside my walls. Granny Squirrel making acorn pies for the little squirrels who come in with backpacks from Squirrel school. Or maybe it’s Henri the French Squirrel writing late at night by candlelight in the ceiling. I hear him. I think he is writing to his friends who are surely flying squirrels who will be on their way as soon as they receive Henri’s letter claiming his whereabouts. And sometimes I seriously consider just getting a BB gun and climbing up into the crawl space myself and shooting him.

Finally the weather starts to warm up. And after several nights of unbroken sleep, I start to let myself believe maybe the squirrel is actually gone.

Tony the exterminator never caught him and never came back for his squirrel traps. But the thing was gone. At last. So that was probably the beginning of April. Sometime later, over the summer, someone asked, hey whatever happened with that squirrel? Well, I replied, if there is any justice in the world he died in a violent knife fight on the streets. And so goes the tale.

Then, on Feb 19, 2008, roughly 10 and a half months later, with yet another new bed I am eager to sleep on, (long story, different blog) I begin to doze off to sleep, and there he is. NOOOOOO I yell. THE SQUIRREL IS BACK! Randi and Emily come rushing in. Crap. I was really banking on the fact that he died out on the streets. I knock loudly on the wall where I just heard him. But he is nice and silent for the audience now. Randi looks fascinated, like it’s a paranormal state investigation. So, he’s back? He must have built a nest, and known to come back, she says. Yeah, I guess so, I respond. Apparently today he remembered his sweet lil pad over on 35th street. And then I grab my pillow and my blanket and head to the unheated living room to crash on the couch for the night.

I ended up calling another exterminator and today he came to pump poisonous dust into the walls of my room. Squirrly will step in it, and clean himself and inadvertently ingest his death. Sweet. We didn’t do this last time.

I’m optimistic that this will work and I feel kinda bad for a second, but then I don’t. I mean, this squirrel fucked with me for almost 4 months last year. He can’t do this to me again. He needs to go. And besides, this is a much more peaceful way to die as opposed to the violent knife fight on the street at the hands of a rat named Tom Bergeron.