OK dude, game on. I sit bolt upright in bed as I hear the scratching, clawing, digging sound of a rodent - or a squirrel - in the attic space directly above me. In the dark I make a face fierce enough to properly send the message of my readiness for battle, despite the enemy being oblivious to my intentions. It is 0300 and I have a spin class in four hours. I need sleep.
I rise and remove my cozy fleecy heated comforter with astonishing speed and agility. I stand and slam by flat palm against the skylight sidewall. It resonates with a boom that I am hoping sounds like incoming motor fire to the perp. I repeat the barrage three more times until I hear the roar of successful silence. I wait and listen, From downstairs I hear the familiar sixty cycle hum of the ancient refrigerator as it keeps the ice frozen, ice I will most likely need in the morning to control the swelling in my hand. Other than the hum it is still. I decide that I have won the battle and delicately slide back to the safety of my king-size fox hole. Pulling the comforter to just below my nose I stretch my legs out and enter the second level of relaxation. Immediately my mind demands attention reminding me of the ten thousand things that must all be accomplished by noon tomorrow. I hand down a ruling that they will just have to get in line as the first order of business is to GET SOME SLEEP. In this nightmarish state my poor subconscious rewards me with the image of an octopus stealing my bike. This is bad. SLEEP.
Before the eep can end the command, the temporarily vanquished enemy of all things holy lets loose a volley of agitated digs that sound very much like machine gun fire. I am under attack. By a fucking squirrel. I slam my fist into the wall behind my bed. Machine gun. Fist. Machine gun. Five sharp fists. Machine gun. I would yell but my room is very close to my sleeping neighbor and I don’t want to wake him or let on to the embarrassing fact that I am being pulverized and plundered by a mammal smaller than my shoe.
I try to Zen it out, ignoring the obnoxiousness of the assault with righteousness and tolerance. After all it could be a female simply trying to make a better nest for her offspring than the one in the crawl space last year. That lasts one breath longer than my last meditation session. I overreact with a shriek asking the intruder to please consider the fact that my next tactic might be a lethal one. I will shoot, I assert, so this is your last chance.
Scratch. Claw. Insouciance. Defiance.
Wondering where the cats are and why they haven’t sprang to the front lines of this monumental skirmish, I try a different approach. Again I sweep away the comforter, stand and turn on the lights. As I do so the skinny cat opens one eye from the rocking chair pillow asking why I have done such a silly thing as turn the lights on at 0400. I look at him with disdain similar to watching a politician say something stupid. I wonder where my old Remington double-barrel side by side 12 gauge is. The light gambit seems to have worked as the only sound is now from the beach as a small chevron of geese pass. Maybe my thinking of the shotgun has spooked them. I wait and listen trying to identify the exact location of the overhead enemy bunker while refusing to be distracted by the allied forces outside. I may need aircover for reinforcement.
Back under the covers I glance at the clock. I have to get up in an hour. This has been a three-hour battle. I am out of ammo and morale is as bad as it has ever been. I wonder if this crazed critter from another taxonomic rank would even know what a flying white flag means. Because I am ready to give up. Just let me sleep I whine.
Scratch.
Oddly, I laugh out loud. OK, you win. Congratulations. I surrender.
I am still laughing as I roll over, grab another pillow and attach them to my head like a pair of headphones and dive under as many covers as I can grab with one hand. I curl into the emergency fetal position and press the pillows close to my head. I wiggle into a position that will allow some rest, a compromise from the much needed deep REMs, but the best I can do at this point in the firefight. Dig a hole, hunker down and live to fight another day.
The alarm sounds.
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