You may remember my confusion over whether I should call Animal Control this Tuesday at 9 am or at 8:45 am, based on the advice I got from the person who answered the phone and told me that it was crucial that I call back at “exactly 9 am” several times, and then later said, “even 8:45, you can try 8:45.” So I solved the problem with math, and this Tuesday morning at promptly 8:56 am I phoned the prestigious city office once again.
“Animal Control.”
“Hello, I’m calling to put my name on the waiting list for a groundhog trap. I was told to call at this time to see if there were any traps available.”
“Oh. Errr. Um, well, we don’t really… So, hmm. Well, we don’t just give out traps to anyone. What’s your situation?”
“Well, I have a groundhog. He’s really fat. He lives under our shed, about 20 feet from our house, and he has a front tunnel and a back tunnel. Also he ate most of our garden last year. And I have small children.”
“Oh, well, we can’t do anything about him eating your vegetables. Ha ha! But since he’s under a structurrrrrrrrrre… {sigh} Okay, what’s your name?”
We go through the rigamarole of name, how to spell it, how to spell the street name of our address. I think, “We’re getting somewhere!” I am optimistic. Then she explains:
“So, since this is sort of a borderline case, because he is causing damage to a structure but it’s not a residence, what you’ll need to do is, you’ll need to call back next week and see if anything is available for that week.”
I think: “But this IS my call back.” I also think: “What kind of psychic waiting list expects you to magically divine that your number might be up?” I say:
“Okay, so next week I need to call and see if I can borrow a trap?”
“Yes, but since this is a borderline case…well, tell them that your name is on the waiting list and you want to see if there is anything available. Do you know the rules for live trapping?”
“Oh yes, thank you, I read the page on the website several times.”
“Okay great… Oh hang on, it looks like we’re already to the next week, this coming week is already booked up. So you’ll need to call the next week to see if it’s scheduled or not.”
A brief pause on my end as I try to sort out whether it might actually be possible that the city owns a singular groundhog trap, and has literally no idea how a waiting list works. And that it might be another two weeks before I get no closer to determining whether I might be able to borrow a trap, or not borrow a trap.
“Okaythankyouhaveaniceday CLICK.”
I saw the groundhog yesterday, lumbering through the flower bed, gnawing leisurely on my sedum. I wanted to tell him: Your days are numbered, bucko. But with the city government now involved, I’m not really sure they are.
Rock on with your fat self, you giant hairball.
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Post 23 of 40 Daze: A Lenten Writing Practice