No scratching disturbed us in the night, and in the morning there was no noise either as we readied for work.
Once dressed, I went outside and walked around the house, looking at the eaves, the shingles, the siding, and I found no possible entry way. That afternoon home from work, I braved the rising temperatures and went into the attic with a flashlight, looking and listening as I gingerly stepped from one rafter to the next, steadying myself on those above. I could see no entry way above or around the bedroom area, and heard nothing either. Sweaty and sticky from insulation, I retreated.
But that night, there was more scratching, to the alarm of my wife and the fascination of the cats. I went outside with my flashlight and scanned the roof and found nothing.
Then it ceased.
"Whatever it is, it is coming in to spend the night, and leaving. I just can't figure out where," I said. I'll look again tomorrow.
And the next morning, that's when I saw a softball-sized opening in the shake roof, above the eaves, hidden so far by the leaves of a crepe myrtle. That afternoon, I went back in the attic, hoping to scare off any day resident, then with hammer and nails found some old shingles, grabbed the ladder, and climbed up to the roof.
I nailed the hole shut, inserting shingles as they should be, overlapping, but soundly fastened.
That night there was no scratching. We rejoined, though the cats looked bored.
The next night, there was more scratching....
To be continued