Knock, Knock! Who’s There?

“You hear that sound?” I asked.

“What sound?” questioned Mike.

An arrhythmic tapping, like a malfunctioning heart, emanated from a nearby wall.

“It’s nothing- my crib.” The deck whispered as Mike shuffled, then dealt each of us a six-card cribbage hand.

Not The Sound Of Silence

Sporadic knocking refuted the “It’s nothing” conclusion.

“There’s something in there.” I ditched my hand and pressed my ear to the beating wall. “It’s probably mice.” 

From time to time a mouse ventured into the garage, taking up residence until a peanut butter laced trap lured him towards death. (We all have sirens.) This one must be the Odysseus of mousedom, resisting the nutty temptation and securing a cozy niche for winter – in my wall. I imagined the critter ripping insulation and gnawing wiring. If we didn’t act quickly, his progeny would short circuit the house or worse spark a fire.

“Flames will engulf us and we’ll die in our sleep,” I said. “Smoke inhalation kills twice as many people as burns.”

Mike, who hadn’t access to my catastrophizing thoughts, glanced bewildered in my direction. The erratic thumping continued. 

“If it was a mouse, you’d hear scratching, not thumping,” said Mike.

“So, you DO hear mice!” I had hoped it was my imagination. “Maybe they’re really BIG mice! Oh, no! They’re rats! Rats are thumping in the walls.”

Abandoning the cribbage game, Mike sidled up to the wall and listened intently (or at least intently enough to convince me that he thought the sound merited investigation).

“There’s no way a critter could have gotten into this wall,” Mike explained. Then he launched into an explanation about rafters and headers and sealed joints or some such construction jargon. 

I wasn’t listening . . . at least not to him. The tapping-knocking-thumping resumed. 

“It’s intermittent,” I analyzed. “There’s no pattern.”

“What does THAT prove?”

“I’m gathering data,” I said. “A raccoon could have gnawed a hole through the roof or slid down the vent or . . . where are you going?”

“Raccoon?” said Mike. “You upgraded the pest that’s really not in the wall.”

Reluctant Investigation

Mike zipping his parka and wielding a flashlight said, “I’m going out into the winter’s night to search for raccoon or rat or mouse holes that allow them access to the wall causing thumping and knocking and tapping which interrupted our cribbage game by the fireplace while drinking Belgium beers.”

I followed close behind.

“It’s this wall,” I said indicating the entrance outer wall opposite the thumping and knocking and tapping inner wall.

Mike who had BUILT houses for a lifetime didn’t need my help in locating walls- inner or outer- and communicated this with raised eyebrows. 

I refrained from directing his investigation.

He scanned the perimeter of the entrance with the high intensity flashlight beam revealing nothing. Then he backed onto the front lawn and shone it on the sloping roof- no ripped shingles, no dislodged vents, no torn siding. The house appeared intact.

“I can check again in the morning, but there’s nothing else I can do tonight.”

We paused in the entranceway.

“It MUST be on the roof. This afternoon I hung the new Welcome sign,” I said pointing to the hammer tin plaque. “I didn’t see any sign of chewing.”

Just then a breeze swirled about the porch and caught the metal sign which rattled against the siding. Mike sighed and shook his head.

“So, was it my deal or yours?” I asked.

Everyday Epiphany

With the comforting sounds of shuffling cards, the glug of Belgium beers pouring, and the crackling of the fireplace, we continued our Cribbage game.

Problems would find me. I didn’t need to look or listen for them.

Check out my children’s book OPERATION HOPPER.