Sounds like a Margaret Truman novel, doesn’t it? The story is more personal (and not as long) as that. Do not proceed with this post if you are squeamish or eating a meal.
It started the week of Christmas when I went into the basement pantry for something and, in pulling out a bag of confectioner’s sugar that leaked from several mysterious holes, discovered evidence that Someone Was In The Basement With Me.
I thought it was a chipmunk, gaining access to the basement from under the back porch. They’re cute and fun to watch, but I do not want them in the house.
Since organizing and cleaning the pantry was on my post-Christmas to-do list, I started the process early, throwing out an amazing amount of food that had been … compromised. (Even if I only suspected it. If it could have been nibbled, out it went.) The pantry looked great when I finished; most food was enclosed in lidded, impenetrable containers and everything was sparkling and tidy. DH bought some mousetraps — the last word in no-fuss, no-muss rodent eradication — and I put them to the side.
Tuesday when I went to get a can of tomatoes from the very clean, very neat pantry … there was a disturbing amount of shredded plastic and a hole in a giant bag of raw popcorn. It was practically the only item that could have been eaten. The creature was clearly desperate. This was not just a nuisance, it was personal. I set the traps with shards of white chocolate.
Imagine my surprise yesterday when I checked on the situation:
I’m glad I was not there when the trap did its work. I checked the traps this morning and was happy they were empty. But what are the chances that he acted alone?