SQUATTERS

Well, it took the management five weeks to get an exterminator to set traps for the rats. Meanwhile I was tearing my hair out, worrying that the four-legged squatters were chewing the kids’ beautiful Christmas stockings to pieces. When I decided I couldn’t wait any longer, I went back to our temporary storage room, armed with Gina’s heavy metal rake to fight off the invaders if necessary. What I found was the bag they’d been nesting in vacated, though chewed up, while the stockings themselves were still intact—just so filthy I doubted they could be salvaged.

The dirt on one of them was loose enough that I was able to brush most of it off with a whiskbroom on our tiny balcony. (Ella hates going out there because she’s afraid the balcony will collapse). Only later did it occur to me I’d probably breathed in some of the…er…detritus and that I soon might succumb to some dread disease.

I didn’t dare wash the stockings because they were felt, so I took them to the dry cleaners instead. The red dye bled onto the white parts of the reindeer stocking, but hey… They’re now hanging from the mantle over the fireplace…and I haven’t died yet.