Vermin Roommate

For the past couple of weeks I've been hearing a weird scratching, almost a scuttling sound, under the house. I started putting out mouse traps, but they were still empty after a few days. And I didn't put just any old Roundy's cheese in there; I put the really primo stuff: Veleveeta fresh off the log.

Meanwhile the scratching was getting worse. So I broke downand called an exterminator, Andy, which may have been a bad idea. Andy's about as big around as a hula hoop, and he's not exactly willing to follow vermin into their crusty little hideaways.

I described the problem to him over the phone, a kind of hard scratching , followed by the ocasional bump. Too big to be a mouse, I figured. Probably a skunk or a possum?

"Nah, well, I'll tell you what now," said Andy, "I been getting a lot of similar complaining 'bout that same thing, and I'll tell you what you need to do now. Get out of the hosue and wait for me. Now I ain't saying what's down there is dangerous and I ain't saying it's safe. But if you got any kind of baby's or pets you don't want getting diseases, you might wanna grab them, too."

Andy arrived three hours later, and found me outside, shivering, with three hours worth of frost on my face. He pulled up in his big Honda diesel pickup truck, with the bed full of enormous steel tanks. Mostly Andy's idea of exterminating was to douse your home with chemicals. he was an expert on chemicals; he went to trade shows all the time where he probably shared drinks with a few terrorists. Every now and then Fox News will show a photo of some captured militant and Andy will hop out of his cahir, "Kumar!?"

So Andy's sidles his body on over to the house and shines a flashlight under the foundation.

"Uh-huh. I'll tell you what now...have a looksee under here."

I crouched down with him, sinking my frostbitten knees into the snow. In the vague underlighting of my crawlspace I saw a haggard little man in a muddy suit, lying curled up under the a support beam.

"Is that a homeless guy?"

"Nah, it's a lawyer. Been finding them udner houses all over town."

"Why? Shouldn't they all be, well...working ina courthosue or something?"

"Ain't no work for 'em. Ever since our benevolent leader George W. Bush," we both lowered our eyes at the mention of His name, "enacted tort reform, most of them are out of a job."

"Well what should I do?"

"I wouldn't do nothing, really. They're a might handy to have. They keep the rat population down and whatnot. Or you never know when you may need a good lawyer. I mean, I can flush the poor guy out for you if you want...."

I gave the poor huddled litigator a good look. He seemed so peaceful there, all cute and curled. "Nah. Let's leave him be."

Andy must have seen some kind of sympathy in my eyes, because he pressed his hand firmly into my shoulder. "Now listen here, though. Don't you try makin' a pet out of him. Ain't no good for that. When these things go through law school...they change them somehow. They ain't even really human no more. They're somethign else. Go and feed it once and you may not wake up the next day."

With that Andy stepped into his truck and puttered off. Peter Frampton's "Show Me the Way" was booming on his tape deck.

I took one last look at the lawyer and headed into the house for some coffee. I wouldn't try to make a pet out of him, but I would like to know his name.

Maybe if I set out a cup of coffee for him....