Quick recap from last week:
We caught a super-sized raccoon
Putrid smell coming from the bathroom
Worm-like bugs in the sink
Flies in the bathroom the size of hummingbirds, straight outta Jurassic Park
Pest control guy put his foot through the ceiling
Called Roto Rooter-type guy to come snake out the shower drain

So anyway, the guy comes over to snake out the shower drain because we were convinced the horrible smell was coming from there. Jen told him about the smell (again, not necessary) and pointed at the white, wiggly grains of rice in the sink and asked, ‘What ARE tho…? Wait, are those MAGGOTS?!’  He said, ‘Uh-huh. Yes ma’am. They’re coming from up there.’, pointing to one of the light fixtures over the sink. He added, ‘I don’t think your problem is with the shower drain.’ I’m a little fuzzy on the details of the rest of the story but I think this is the part where Jen throws up all over the floor and his feet. Then he left, probably to go home and change into his old work boots.

We then called my brother Dave and asked if he could come over and do a little CSI work for us. Hopefully, he’d be able to locate and remove the source of the offending smell. A quick note about my brother: he’s always been extremely detail-oriented and thorough in everything he does, including his storytelling. His stories paint a vivid picture. By the time he finished telling us what all just happened, we felt as if we had just finished watching a horror movie.

The first thing he did was take down the light fixture in question, the one spitting out maggots through its decorative holes, to gain access to the attic. Dave then reached up through the dark hole where the light fixture was to see if he could determine what was up there by feeling around with his BARE HAND – and get this, he felt something with FUR and LITTLE FEET WITH CLAWS!  Jen and I simultaneously yelled, ‘AAAGH!!’

It reminded me of a show I watched one time about “catfish noodling”. It’s a pastime, if you can call it that, where you wade out into a lake or river and reach under a boulder or a rock ledge into a dark cavity with your bare hand and hope you alarm a gigantic catfish. We’re talking about a 60+ pound catfish. The fish is down there happily spawning away in his/her den (I’m not sure how spawning works), not bothering anybody and minding his own business (let’s just assume it’s a he since IDK). The next thing he knows, a big, hairy human hand is in there feeling around for who-knows-what. It scares the crap out of him, and he does the first thing that pops into his not-very-evolved brain – he chomps down on it with his mouth. The next thing he knows, he gets yanked up and out of his happy little home. He then gets thrown onto a dry beach/riverbank, where he immediately gets clubbed to death. I know I shouldn’t ‘judge a book by its cover’, but I’m guessing that a couple of these guys had Confederate flags in the rear windows of their pickups. Also, there was no shortage of scraggly beards and beer guts going on. It wasn’t just guys either, women were out there doing it too. Incidentally, a couple of those ex-Homecoming Queens also had scraggly beards and beer guts. I know I joke around about some stuff sometimes but I’m absolutely serious about this, except for the flags, beards and beer guts. Real people actually do this. This activity is labeled as a form of “fishing”. Now, I’ve done my fair share of fishing when I was younger, and I almost never risked losing a limb. The only thing “catfish noodling” has in common with (normal person) fishing is that occasionally a fish gets involved.

Let the record show about my brother, in order to help us out of our predicament, Dave voluntarily put his hand in a dark hole in ceiling and groped around for whatever might have been up there – and in case you’re wondering, he doesn’t have a Confederate flag (at least, not to my knowledge), scraggly beard or a beer gut. More power to him, I wouldn’t have done it even if I could have done it.

Anyway, back to our raccoon saga…
As luck would have it for Dave (and us), Blake (the Exterminator) had stopped by to check on his guy who was repairing our ceiling from where he put his foot through it the night before. Dave asked Blake, the varmint relocation professional, if he would pull the recently departed carcass through the not-very-big hole in the ceiling because he was afraid it wouldn’t come through in one piece. Upon hearing this nasty little tidbit, Jen and I let out another yell. Blake was triumphant (lucky for us and the raccoon), and he took him away to his final resting place.

At this point in the story, Jen vomited on the floor again. Then she immediately went outside and hammered a “For Sale by Owner” sign into the front yard – where she waited for her Uber to come take her to a nearby hotel.

After all the excitement died down and our house was put back together, the smell completely dissipated within a few days. Even though I haven’t been up there in years, I’m pretty sure the only thing that will be in our attic for years to come will be our old Christmas tree.

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“Pet Peeve of the Day”

The day of the week I’m writing this on is called Friday, not Fri-yay! That shouldn’t even be a thing people over 35 say anymore.
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I hope I didn’t gross anybody out too bad. Some people might look at me and think, ‘Now, that guy over there in the wheelchair must get bored out of his mind all the time.’ But the truth is, as this story hopefully demonstrates, my life is anything but boring because the next interesting thing like this is waiting to happen and is just around the corner. Besides, this blog subject was Jen’s idea so if it causes you to have nightmares – blame her.

[Author’s note: We haven’t seen or talked to Dave since all of this happened, we hope he’s doing okay. Also, my siblings used to ask us all the time, ‘Do you guys need anything?’ – that doesn’t happen anymore. 😊 ]


Viel Glück und gute Nacht,

– Jim