CHAPTER SEVEN #2
I’m not particularly afraid of snakes or spiders, but I have a healthy respect for them and I don’t like the fact that the beam of my flashlight is only able to penetrate a couple of feet into what is clearly a huge space under this house.
Once I shimmy myself through the tiny entrance, there’s plenty of room to move around and plenty of places a cat could hide.
“Do you see him?” Mrs. Hughes hollers after me.
Her voice triggers some movement, and I shine my light in that direction, but can’t make anything out. I really don’t like this. I shove the cat carrier ahead of me and scoot forward after it.
“Here, kitty kitty,” I say in a low voice. “I’m a nice person. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Something hisses from the darkness. I freeze. That sounded like a cat, right? Not a snake?
I shine the light all around and see nothing. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. I can hear Shaleigh yelling at me to get out and follow procedure, but that starving, dehydrated kitten’s adorable face from earlier this week keeps flashing in my memory and drowning her out.
“I’ll be careful,” I mutter.
I army crawl forward through the dust, the scent of mold and rich earth tickling my nose.
Finally, I see a flash of black fur. Just a few more scoots forward, and I can grab the cat, but I’d rather lure it to me. I don’t feel like being bitten today.
I slide farther forward, looking for any sign of something keeping the cat from leaving, but I don’t see anything. There’s just a really big, black cat curled up under Mrs. Hughes' house, with no apparent interest in moving.
I pull a cat treat from my pocket and move closer. “Here kitty, I’ve got a yummy treat for you.”
The black cat shifts and separates into two cats, both of whom have white stripes in their fur and both of whom are raising their tails in my direction.
“Oh, shit.” I manage to turn my head, so that I don’t get sprayed in the face, but I still get a direct hit to my hair and body from two fully grown skunks.
I shove myself backward as fast as I can, dragging the cat carrier, and praying those skunks aren’t rabid.
Rocks scrape my skin as I crawl backwards, faster than I’ve ever gone toward an exit.
“Oh, nooo,” Mrs. Hughes wails. She must have gotten a whiff of what she’s going to be smelling for the next two weeks at least.
I shove myself out into the sunlight and flop onto my back in the dirt. My eyes are watering, and my throat is scratchy, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to puke.
Mrs. Hughes hurries away, but returns a few moments later and offers me a hand. “Sit up,” she says. “Drink this.”
My stomach roils as I let her help me up to sit. I take the glass she offers me.
“It’s ginger ale,” she says. “It’ll help with the nausea.”
I take a small sip, surprised when it does help. I sit and sip and just breathe until my eyes stop stinging, and I can catch my breath. “You’ve been sprayed before?” I ask.
She nods. “Got me point blank. I stunk to high heaven for weeks.”
I sigh. “Unfortunately, your home is likely going to smell for weeks. I’ll set a live trap before I leave, and we can have the skunks euthanized. I’m betting they have a nest with babies under there.”
“You want to kill them?” Mrs. Hughes glares at me like I just threatened to kill her.
“I don’t love it either, but skunks are rabies vectors. I can’t move them to another property, and if I move them somewhere else on this property, they’ll likely just come back here.”
Mrs. Hughes’ expression softens. “That’s okay. I don’t mind them being here. I’ll give them space and, if I see them acting funny, I’ll call you back to take care of them.”
She really is sweet.
“Are you sure you want them to live under your house? They could cause structural damage.”
She shrugs. “I had a terrible mouse problem last fall, and I haven’t seen a single one yet this year. I’d bet it’s thanks to those skunks. I’d rather have them than mice in my kitchen any day.”
I’m not sad that I don’t have to euthanize a skunk family. “If you change your mind or they cause you any trouble, give me a call.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “Can I do anything else for you before you go? I could hose you off right quick.”
I push to my feet, feeling a little dizzy, but a bit less nauseous. Straight hose water won’t do anything but make me wet. “I appreciate the offer, but I should get back to work. Have a good day.”
She smiles and waves to me as I leave. Finally, a happy customer.
I call the head office as I bump down the dirt drive, and Shaleigh suggests I take the rest of the day off. She actually suggests I take the rest of the week off, but I’m not using my sick days over a skunk spray.
After dropping off the truck and cleaning it as quickly as I’ve ever cleaned it before, I head home with all my car windows down.
I’ve started to adjust a bit to the stench, but one thing I know about skunk spray is that it lingers on everything it touches.
My truck is going to smell, my car is going to smell, and I’m going to stink. Possibly for weeks.
At home, I leave the windows open in my car and head around to the back porch. My backyard is fully viewable to three different neighbors, but there’s no way I’m bringing my stinky uniform inside. The less I infect the house with stink, the quicker it’ll fade.
With a quick look around and seeing no one, I strip down to my underwear and bra and rush into the house.
Marmalade mews at me as I streak past her.
The house is a disaster, as it has been every day I’ve come home, but I don’t have time to clean.
I hurry into the pantry, grab the baking soda, and race into the bathroom.
I slam the door behind me to try to minimize the smell getting out into the rest of the house and start the bath, dumping in the baking soda as soon a the water’s warm enough.
When the tub’s full, I step out of my undies, pull my sports bra off over my head and sink all the way down into the warm water, head and all. I stay down there until I need to breathe, then pop back up.
It’s been years since I’ve soaked in a tub in an empty house and, if it weren’t for the stench, this would be a gloriously peaceful and relaxing experience.
I tip my head back, eyes closed, more relaxed than I can remember being since before Harper was born.
And in the silence, my mind wanders to HandsyGuy37. He’s probably at work. Maybe in an office. Or behind a counter in a coffee shop. Maybe he’s a professor at the university. Maybe he’ll be my professor.
It irritates me, like a burr under my skin, that I can’t picture him right now. I don’t want him to share so many details I figure out who he is, but a vague impression would be nice.
Reaching over the edge of the tub, I grab my cell from the floor where I set it next to my bra. As a mother, I always keep that phone on or near me. Just in case.
DogPerson158: Thanks for the advice. It worked so well, I might have even made a new friend. I at least made a connection, and I think that maybe I’ve been kind of a snob.
He doesn’t answer right away, and I start to worry I’ve given the wrong impression.
DogPerson158: I’m not a snob. It’s just that I want to get in and get the job done, to help who needs helping, and I’m sometimes dismissive of people who are getting in the way of that.
HandsyGuy37: It happens to the best of us. I’m glad my advice helped.
His tone feels hurried. He’s probably at work and doesn’t want to be bothered.
But then my phone pings with another message.
HandsyGuy37: But it wouldn’t have worked if you didn’t have that kindness in you already. You should thank yourself for pausing and noticing something that developed that connection.
My smile is so big it feels painful. DogPerson158: Where do you work? Don’t give me too many personal details. I just want to picture your current environment. Vaguely. Keep it vague.