I crawled into the sub-basement and aimed the deadly flashlight. Fortunately I could see the chipmunk. As predicted I couldn’t reach him.
I whipped out with the PPK with a flourish. Actually I tried a flourish but you can’t muster a flourish while lying on your back inches below floor joists. Still this should get the little cretin out in the open. James Bond took out half the Kremlin with a PPK so a replica should make a chipmunk either die of fear or run home for his tree.
I took careful aim. POP! Direct hit! How awesome is that?
The chipmunk leapt right at me. In retrospect I should have seen that coming. I let out odd squeaking noises as I tried to get out of it’s way. Did I mention I was on my back in a crawlspace? I also slammed my head on the ductwork. What is it with me banging my head this week?
The chipmunk made it through the ductwork, over the basement, and into the “finished” part of the house before I was done with the requisite cursing. I stumbled after and found him hunkered amid some fishing poles. I spilled them over. It zoomed past my camping gear, across some butchering supplies, and into the nooks and crannies of a stack of books while I was still trying to get the treble hook out of my shirt.
He clung to the bookcase while I drew and fired again. A miss! **&&^%^%%%
At least the chipmunk was in motion and not hidden somewhere. I fired again and it scooted over my shoe. Yikes! Nobody likes a live rat on their foot (sure chipmunks are cute but once they’re in the house they’re just rats to me).
I took a wild swipe with my flashlight and smacked my knee cap. Ouch!
Now it was personal!
It charged over the couch into a 6” space. With total abandon I charged over the couch and dove into the same 6” space. It fit. I didn’t. I fired wildly, “winged it” a few times, and it went charging away for the living room.
Over the Legos it went. Over the Legos I went. It jetted behind another bookcase and I yanked it away from the wall a half second later. Then it zipped behind a rack of VHS tapes. I ripped the rack away from the wall only pausing briefly to think “we have VHS tapes?”
It ran across the center of the room with me inches behind it. A shoe was lying on the floor. I chucked the shoe and the chipmunk somersaulted over it. Meanwhile the cat stretched out on the stairway watching the show. Cats!
Following the “shoe incident” the chipmunk realized it was in the center of the room with no clear path of flight. It paused right in front of the TV. Ah ha! I drew a bead on it. The TV was two feet behind the chipmunk. If I missed (or even if I hit) I’d run a big risk of a ricochet taking it out the screen.
Hmm…was this a problem or an opportunity? I could kill two nasty invasive little problems at once! The chipmunk flitted six inches to the left then reversed and froze. It was still in front of the TV. I clicked off the safety.
The TV loomed. Actually I hate TV. What loomed was the thought of a future discussion with Mrs. Curmudgeon. “You shot a hole in it!?!” She’d scream. I’d hold up a dead chipmunk. “Do you have any idea how much a TV costs?” She’d continue. Actually I have no idea how much a TV costs but I know that I bitch about the cost of bread. Even so I could probably deal with blowing a hole in a TV that costs more than my first car (or many of the ones that followed) if the explanation was something more intelligent than holding up a dead chipmunk. I have some pride. I put the pistol back on safe. The chipmunk stayed put. I took a step forward.
The chipmunk stayed put. I took another step. It was staring at me. I raised the flashlight.
It erupted in motion just as I brought down Thor’s hammer. I nicked its tail but missed center mass.
It went flailing past the woodstove. It was in full flight but I had a good view. I took aim just as it went in front of the expensive glass window on the woodstove. I hate TV but love my woodstove. I reholstered the pistol and let the chipmunk dive into our huge woodbox. Well played sir.
How do you get a chipmunk out of a pile of split firewood? It’s their natural habitat. They’re so good at burrowing through stacks of wood that they’re practically the wood itself. This was going to be like trying to extract a politician from a pile of money.
I could hope the cat got back in the game. I looked at the cat. The cat looked at me. Cats!
Charge! I leapt forward and started yanking wood out of the neat stack and flinging it all over the carpet. The chipmunk was scurrying around as I kept removing whatever piece he’d been hiding under.
Roughly halfway through the pile I lifted a piece of wood with a desperate injured chipmunk still clinging to it. It shot toward my arm. I let go of the wood and he was air born. Everything came down to this moment…
Ha! Monkeys have feet! Remember that when you mess with bipeds!
He was still alive. Head beneath my boot and body wriggling wildly. I leaned down close and did a perfect air-pistol based double tap. It was over.
He’d put up a good fight. I paused a minute to admire the moxie of my worthy adversary. Then I scooped him up and marched past the useless indoor cat to toss the body into the forest.
Other chipmunks were scurrying around the forest. They chirped loudly at me as I walked under their oaks. I wondered which tree the dead chipmunk had come from. Were these little jerks his “homies”? I ought to put his little head on a tiny spike as a warning to the other woodland creatures. I’d drape it with a miniature sign in chipmunk language that says “be warned: the guy in the house has no sense of humor”.
Instead I think I’ll be shopping for some more traps. And possibly a kitten. The indoor cat is on administrative probation pending a full review of it’s job performance. I think she should be demoted to outdoor cat. I’m not sure how the executive committee will rule but my plan is to say “the TV almost died and the cat did it”.