"Today's Early Morning Sleep Interruption" is brought to you by Name That Critter!!, an exciting new game show where a paranoid, rest-deprived single mother in Chicago has to guess what creature is trapped and frantic inside the chimney and/or roof of her house. Tune in today at 9am/8am CST. Guest Stars: Rocky the Flying Squirrel. Or Rickety Rockety Raccoon. Or Jerry of Tom and Jerry. Or Scooby-Doo. or Tweety Bird. Or Magilla Gorilla. Or Michaelangelo from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Or Mr. Ed. Or Christopher Walken.
The creature's flapping or crawling or scooting woke me up at 8:10 am. Considering the fact I didn't get to sleep until around 2:30 am, after chatting with both my boyfriend and then my likewise-sleep-deprived friend Julia, this was uncalled-for. How comical it must have looked, however, to see a grown woman (that's me) shaking and cowering under the covers, making a beeline downstairs, as if whatever it is could possibly sweep into my room, carry me off by the flesh of my neck and leave me for dead somewhere along the banks of the Des Plaines River.
I Googled "animal trapped in the roof" and I came across the municipal site for a city in Australia called Greater Dandenong. This, of course, makes me wonder if there is also a Lesser Dandenong or a Greatest Dandenong. This site is chock-full of useful information about "nuisance animals," which include swooping birds, the elm leaf beetle, snakes, possums and vermin. Of particular interest was the article on "Possums and the Law," which I would encourage everyone to read, if for no other reason than to understand the ramifications under Australian law for dicking around with possums, which are protected by the Australian Wildlife Act of 1975.
Crikey, people, if possums are becoming endangered in your fair country, I'm sure that a population replenishing program could be quickly enacted, because Chicago alleys alone have a surplus supply of those ugly motherfuckers.
Seriously, though, how do I find out what's invaded my home? Wait until the spinoff "Name That Maggoty, Rotting Carcass!!" comes on, or call Animal Control, or curl up in my bathtub, trembling? I'd call the landlord if he hadn't skipped town for tropics unknown 8 months ago; but alas, I squat, therefore I am.
This morning, I totally feel like Bill Bixby. ("Is she drinking again?" wonder the readers.) More specifically, I feel like the David Banner character on "The Incredible Hulk" who regains human form and pale skin after yet another destructive, rage-driven transformation into a growling, green monster. Yesterday was my Intensely Hostile Monthly Pre-Menstrual Freakout from Hell Day, during which I managed to crab about, insult, anger, disappoint and alienate practically everyone whose path I crossed. If I had any semblance of a clue as to what day this Tsunami of Agony was going to arrive on any given month, I might be better equipped to combat the emotional tailspin and spare my dear friends and family of the ensuing wrath. Unfortunately, it's never accurately predictable or even realized until hours into the actual day-of, by which time dozens of innocent people have already been witness to my sour disposition and foul temper.
Hormones are funny. Mine seemed to abruptly level off and calm shortly before my boyfriend was ready to say, "I will entertain the notion of conversing with you when you're ready to stop being an illogical, snarky bitch. Till then, you're on ignore mode." Which, I admit, I totally would've deserved. Mercifully, his cooler head prevailed long enough for me to apologize.
Today, it's raining. I think I'll ship Luke off to day camp, take a nap and attempt to figure out what's lurking in my roof, in between emailing more pointless and useless resumes for jobs for which I'm either under-qualified, over-qualified or simply uninterested.
Till next time...