by Kell Willsen
or... The Appropriated Attic. One side of a phone conversation.
|Hello, is that Scarecrow Exterminators? Oh, good. I was afraid I'd dialled the wrong number again. |
Don't ask. I spent ten minutes talking to some joker before I figured out he was just pulling my leg. Anyway, I need you to come out to 73 Faxcol Drive as soon as possible. I've got bats in the attic.
Oh har-har. No, not a belfry, just an attic.
Right inside the roof. They got in through a broken skylight.
Of course I replaced the glass. Twice. They just keep smashing it again. Glass everywhere - it's ridiculous.
What do you mean, “Is that all?” Isn't it enough? But no, actually, that's not all. My electricity bill has gone through the roof (no pun intended). They're stripping the wires, I suppose. I've tried to find out more, but between the broken glass, and the way they swoop down from the shadows, I'm taking my life in my hands every time I go up there.
And don't get me started on the noise! On top of the breaking glass, and whatever crazy machines they're running off of my electricity, there's the weirdly onomatopoeic sound-effects.
You know, “POW!”, “BLAM!”, “KA-SPLAT!”. That sort of thing.
Sorry, dear, that was me - I'm just on the telephone with the exterminators.
They shout a lot, too. I thought bats were supposed to have good hearing, but these ones can't go anywhere without announcing it to the others at full volume. And the swearing! Quite blasphemous. I've had to send the children to stay at their grandmother's.
Oh, you can? That's wonderful. Yes, the sooner the better. Though, I suppose I should ask... how much is this likely to cost?
Ouch. Yes, well, it's better than the alternative. Yes, that will be fine.
One last thing... about your methods - humane, of course?