Animal House

I'm tired. But most of you have better reasons to be tired. I do not. My body I've mistreated lately, starving it one moment and feeding it wine or beer the next, soaked in Thai or Mexican food, depending on my mood. Tiredness equates to sloppy writing. Just so you know...

If I had my way, I'd fade out of this world, slowly letting other creatures take up residence with me in my abode until they either had the place to themselves or the place deteriorated and became part of the landscape (preferably both)*. One problem, though. Parasites. I share the attic with raccoons and squirrels. They keep relatively quiet and don't disturb my wife too much, so that for the most part I don't have to pretend to be upset the animals are playing around above our heads. When I do have to pretend, I open one of the attic hatches, climb up the folding stairs and stomp around until the animals have bolted or I've quieted them down.

[*Ode to Charles Dickens' "Great Expectations"]

Another problem I discovered during this routine. Ticks. It seems that the varmints have carried ticks into the attic. I found two of them crawling on the walls. Years ago the raccoons filled the house with fleas. And boy, was that fun! Fumigation time then and same again now. A couple of weeks ago I decided to expose my wife and me to dangerous chemicals, opening up some pressurized canisters of pesticides in the attic. We dealt with watery eyes for a couple of days but the ticks have not shown up again. I just wonder how I can keep the animals pest-free while I continue my practice of an open house for things that go bump in the night.

I'll tell you a little story and let you figure out which parts are true. A former work colleague of mine, Peggy, used to live down the road from me. All of us in this part of town commute to work from what was then considered countryside, well outside the city limits, driving about 20 miles to work one way (the city limits have since spread like a bad disease, dragging cancerous suburban growth with it). One morning on the way to work, I saw a familiar car pulling out of Peggy's driveway. The car belonged to another coworker, a good-looking fellow name of Junior, who hailed from Hawaii. Surfer dude all the way, including blond hair and bronzed chest. He claimed he got his name cause he and the two previous generations of men had the same name. Thus, grandpa was Junior, father was Junior, who begot Junior.

I thought Junior lived on the other side of town. I didn't plan to say anything about it but when Junior saw me on the road, he made sure he caught up with me in the company parking lot.

"Lee, man, how's it going?"

"Good."

"Cool. Hey, you'll never guess what. Peggy's car wouldn't work yesterday so I gave her a ride home. We chatted all night and next thing you know, I see it's daylight. So here I am, all disheveled, unshaven and unshowered. Think the boss'll care?"

"Probably not."

"Didn't think so. See you around."

The next morning, I left the house 15 minutes early and saw Junior's car in Peggy's driveway again. In fact, I saw it almost every day for several weeks but never let Junior or Peggy know what I saw. Maybe Peggy's car broke down every day. Hey, it happens, right?

A few months later, I heard through the grapevine that Peggy's out-of-town fiance dropped in on Peggy by surprise. Peggy returned the surprise by letting her fiance know she was pregnant. Trouble was that he and she had not pre-consummated their wedding. Fiance called off the wedding. Junior moved in and married Peggy to make the child legit.

A couple of years later, we had a bad snowstorm in north Alabama. I called Junior to see if he was driving in to work. He said yeah and offered to take me in his old convertible. It was only then that I noticed Junior still had his Hawaii license plate on the car, with the registration stickers pulled off. He told me that Alabama cops don't look at out-of-state tags unless there's just cause so Junior figured he'd save himself a little money. Also, he said, he planned to skip town as soon as he got the cash together. I caught the hint and gave him some money for gas.

Junior kept his word and disappeared. Fast forward 20 years. I run into Peggy and find out that her oldest is now 22 and her youngest 20. I know who the oldest should call Daddy but not the sibling. My wife was pleased I didn't ask about Junior. Let the past be.

Junior was a rambling man, not one to settle down permanently. He planted a seed in the outskirts of Huntsville and moved on. The animals in the attic would understand. Once you get the itch, you feel like dancing. Once you start dancing, you're already up and going so you might as well float on your feet. Peggy's happy about her kids and without asking I'm sure she's glad Junior's dropping ticks in somebody else's bed.