Around 2:30am Tuesday morning, I was pulled out of sleep by the sounds of someone rearranging furniture and rummaging through our kitchen drawers.
It was loud and clumsy and terrifying.
With my heart pounding in my throat, I jabbed my husband. "Did you hear that?" I whispered. Without hesitating, my brave man got up to investigate.
Here's the thing, I don't want to be the one who comes face-to-face with an intruder, but I don't want my husband harmed either. It's times like these that paralyze me, as my mind spins the scenario in to something far scarier than it is (suspense films, I blame you). Then my fear becomes curiosity when all the lights are turned on and my husband says through his mouth guard, "There's no one in here." Instant relief, I can breathe again.
Heart is no longer in throat.
A few months ago, Chris left for work and noticed the garage was in disarray. Planter pots were turned over, empty boxes were flung, garden tools were off their hooks, trash can tipped over. It looked like someone or something had had a party-while-the-parents-were-out-of-town or felt trapped and started spinning like the Tasmanian Devil. Chris cleaned up the mess and we shrugged our shoulders. We didn't see or hear anything after that, until Tuesday morning.
Turns out, the sounds we heard were coming from the garage, in the attic space that sits above our bedroom. We didn't figure out the attic part right away. We took turns turning on and off garage and outside lights, peeking through curtains, waiting for whatever it was to show itself. This went on for 20 minutes and reminded me of the water-in-our-basement episode of 2011. I kinda wish we had hidden cameras in the house during these events. In my mind we look like an old couple wearing footie pajamas, walking together in a huddle, armed with kitchen utensils.
Hubby found the prowler in the attic - a big fat raccoon. He called me out to the garage to look up at the door he had opened and, sure enough, I could see a black snout and familiar markings. Our presence spooked it well enough for it to stop clawing at the walls and for us to fall back asleep. My hero husband then spent the next day figuring out a plan to get it out, humanely. One of our friends offered the animal trap he owns and his gun. Chris opted for courage and pieces of bread instead.
Eventually, the beast made its way down the stairs and back in to the wild of our sleepy neighborhood.
Thank God it wasn't a murderer.. or a skunk.