Some stories, no matter how real they are, just never seem real enough.
Like for example, that story about Richard Gere and the gerbil. Or that story about that plane of soccer players who crashed in the middle of nowhere and they ended up eating each other to survive. Or that story you always hear about how there are people painting the Golden Gate Bridge all year round. Real stories, just amazing that they’re real.
Well…this is one of those stories.
I have a doggie door in my kitchen. The kind with the little plastic flap and the magnetic bottom. So, you know, when the dog goes out the little flap swings back and forth for a second and then sticks back closed thanks to the magic of magnets. It’s a simple yet effective way to keep critters (other than the dog) from assuming they can just enter the house on their own accord.
Something else you have to know is that my dog and I like to taunt the squirrels outside in the back yard. He’s learned the phrase “oh crap there’s a squirrel out back” and the minute I say it, he bolts out the doggie door and into the backyard because I assume he’s planning on eating them or something. He never catches them, but still. He’s intimidating nonetheless for a 10 pound Yorkie.
I’ve already revealed too much about my personal life, haven’t I?
Well one day after taunting the squirrels in the backyard I was looking through my fridge for something to eat. I think I poked around in there for a good ten minutes and finally came back out with a Diet Coke and some cheese sticks or something and walked back into the den so I could get back to the neverending business of checking my e-mail or something. But the thing about my fridge is that it’s not on a level surface, so the door doesn’t close on its own like it should when you walk away and give it a little helpful push.
Well, I looked back into the kitchen and saw the light coming from the still open fridge, so I quickly went back in there and pushed the baby shut, and went back to what I was doing.
And all seemed good until the sounds began.
Chugga tikka chugga tikka.
What the H was that, I thought to myself. Mind you, I’m one of those kids who was taught by the parentals that any strange sound you ever hear in the house is “the house settling.” Sure, that worked for a few years — but when you come face to face with a rat or your drunk next door neighbor thinking your house is HIS house, well, the “house settling” argument doesn’t seem to work as well.
Chugga tikka tk tk tk tk.
I put down the cheese stick and moved the Diet Coke to the side and cautiously walked into the kitchen so I could get a better handle on the sound. Like most suspicious sounds often stop the minute you get close to them, this one wasn’t stopping at all. It was continuing with it’s “tk tk tk tk” over and over again.
And it was coming from the fridge.
Must just be the fan or something, I thought to myself. Or some other moving part of the fridge. Yet, the fridge was one of those brand new kind of fridges that shouldn’t be making weird banging and clicking sounds this early into the warranty. I figured I’d just open up the damn fridge and see what was going on in there. And so I opened the door and what did I see?
A squirrel. Digging through an open container of cottage cheese.
Usually, it’s scary enough seeing a block of cheese in a ziploc bag with a ton of mold on it when you open your fridge. Or peeling back that tin foil off the top of a non-descript bowl — not sure of what is inside of it, when you covered it, or even if it’s living by now. But seeing a squirrel on the top shelf of the fridge, digging through cottage cheese and nestled in among the Cranapple juice and the old Best Foods mayonnaise jar?
I flipped out, and backed up into the dining room to where I could still get a look at what was going on as the squirrel jumped from the inside of the fridge and onto the kitchen floor with a trail of white curds in his wake. (It was obviously a “HE” since really, what female squirrel would have the balls to do such a thing?) The little cottage-cheese eating bastard ran right for the doggie door, shot out of it like a bullet, and ran into the backyard.
“Oh crap, there’s a squirrel out back!” I screamed.
The dog’s ears perked up and he was off his bed and out the door in a split second, shooting out the door and into the grassy backyard like I’d never seen before. But he couldn’t catch the squirrel. It was too quick, climbing back up his favorite tree, jumping onto some phone lines, and escaping with a full stomach filled with dairy.
There was a friggin squirrel in my fridge.
When I pieced together the evidence, I determined (much like Matlock would) that the squirrel, fed up with being taunted, came into the house to taunt me — but saw instead an open fridge filled with “paradise” (translation: food). And when I went back to shut the door, the little fuzz-head must have already been inside where I then trapped him. At least, that’s what would have happened in the dramatization if there was such a show like Animals Attack! Which there isn’t. But there should be.
Because I suspect crap like this happens all the time.
Needless to say — I always try to keep the doggie door closed whenever I can. Oh, and the fridge too.
Yeah, I keep those doors closed all the time.
In other news, last night’s performance of Subject Line Here was a blast. All the pretty bloggers did a truly amazing job. So good work, you blogging fools! That includes you: Shane, Jessica, AJ, Carly, Annie, Colleen and Wil!