"Did you hear that?" asked my wife one evening while we lay in bed reading, closing out a long day.
"Hear what?" I asked.
Then the cats' ears perked up and they started staring at the corner of the ceiling.
I heard some scratching.
The cats moved closer to the sound.
"Great, something's in the attic," I said.
Wife shuddered, with visions of vicious varmints only a few feet away.
"No, it's not dangerous," I assured her.
"How did it get in?"
"I don't know. It's dark and can't see anything outside. I'll check tomorrow," I said, as I heard more scratching and pounded on the wall to shut it up--much like I try to fix my computer when it malfunctions inside.
It moved to another section of the ceiling, followed by the cats' eyes and ears, as they stretched up the wall toward it.
"What do you think it is?" she asked.
"Probably a bird that got in somehow," I reassured her, not mentioning that I heard no fluttering of wings.
Then after another pounding on the wall, there was no more noise, and we went to sleep, as I wondered where the critter got in--the eaves, the sides of the house, or the aging wood shake roof.
It took me several days to find how it got in.
to be continued