First of all, let me note that I am WELL AWARE that I have broken one of the cardinal rules of blogging: 'Make sure that your title states exactly what the post is about.' So that my SEO--Search Engine Optimization--is higher. Meaning I have better "Googleability." Well, I have a philosophy about that...if folks want to find me, they know where I am. And I LOVE catchy titles. I'd much rather read "Life and Death and the Cable Guy" than "Super Easy Banana Bread!!" Not that I don't love banana bread; I do. But I am far more likely to read something with a quirky title. So I'm not high on Google. I don't have to be. I'm high on life. (Sorry....1973 Kirby just couldn't resist.)
Our family has a long and storied history with the cable company. (I wrote about my daughter's adventure here.) When we first moved to Brandywine, the old folks were sure to point out that they did, indeed have cable, and wasn't that very modern of them? (This was 2005. If you didn't have cable? You might as well be in a cave.) Of course they had it cut off, just as they had the electricity cut off WHILE THE CLEANING PEOPLE WERE HERE, therefore costing me an extra boatload having to pay for the cleaning people to come back. Honestly...they didn't want to pay for one more minute of electricty, and I had arranged to have the account transferred, but apparently they didn't believe me. So we went for two days without electricity, because there was no service interruption order on file. Two days. In JUNE!! (Luckily, we had our other house to camp at, with electricity and the all-important air conditioning.)
I made arrangements for our cable to be hooked back up, and met the guy one morning after the electricity had been turned back on. He was all of about twenty years old, and as he surveyed the house, he was visibly disturbed.
"We're going to have to shut down the street and bring in a drop," he said. "You're going to have to rip out this wall," pointing to the shop. "We may have to drill into the siding here..." And it went on. And on. I pictured myself parking my a$$ at Chez Panera Bread, using their wifi, drinking enough coffee to float a barge. As if it wasn't bad enough that the old folks TOOK OUR FLOOR, now we had to rip out walls to get cable? (Remember, I told my husband to run away. This was all his idea. I wanted a NEW house! With cable! And floors! But no...DL had the great idea to fix up ANOTHER HOUSE! At our age! Bring in the cases of liquor, Kirby's gonna need 'em.)
I decided to be proactive. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I told the cable guy that if he needed to take the wall down, then go right ahead. He told me he couldn't. He wasn't allowed to touch the structure. By this time I was so pi$$ed, I RIPPED THE WALL DOWN WITH MY BARE HANDS!! (Okay, I will clarify this, lest you think I am a cross between She-Ra and Zena, Warrior Princess. It was a piece of cheap plywood, stapled on at 12-inch intervals. But it made me feel a lot better.)
And seventeen mice jumped out.
Lots and lots of them.
Inside the wall.
With beady eyes and long tails and poop.
Running around my house.
With their poop.
I didn't tell the former owners that they left us with a house full of mice. They probably would have asked us to pay for them.