It's about 5:30 a.m. on Christmas Eve and I have just made a pot of good, strong coffee. Except for the squirrel/rat/possum/buffalo making a racket in my attic, I might still be asleep. Whatever it is, it's back. I have never figured out how it gets in, but figure it out I must, because I have to get rid of the beast and keep it out. It's damn hard to sleep when a buffalo is prancing about just above the ceiling in the bedroom, ripping pieces of insulation into a thousand pieces and tamping them down just so, in order to make a bed for its soon-to-arrive herd of newborns.
It's too damn cold and I'm too old to go clomping around in the attic, so I think I may hire a buffalo hunter to stake out my attic. I'm going to buy a concrete block to live in. Goddamn animals.
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