My Columbia SC apartment was nice. It was really meant to house state lawmakers and the like for a few months out of the year, then maybe salesmen traveling. It was built in the 80's, and had a bathroom sink partly in the bedroom, like a hotel room. Back when it was built, you or your company would rent this kind of apartment pre-furnished. So, you'd have a little home away from home for extended stays. Now, in the States, there are entire hotel chains devoted to that purpose alone. So, the apartment was rented to schmoes like me who figured all the one bedroom apartments looked just like the "show sample". No, that one had another few square feet, enough for a real bathroom, for thirty dollars a month more. "Oh, the cheaper one's a little smaller." Yes, and it makes you feel like a tourist year round.
But it had high ceilings, and more room than I really needed. So, it was OK. It had a little deck, too. and the roof line was all wood, and angular. Cool looking from the outside, except for the dumpster just outside my door. Nobody ever wanted to park beside it, so ... hey! An advantage there, too. (Do you know about the boy who was given a roomful of sh*6 for his birthday? He jumps in and starts digging, saying, "There's a pony in here somewhere!" Old joke.)
There were woods just beyond the fence where I parked. It separated us from the nicer (but smaller) apartments that were 50 dollars a month cheaper. See, my apartment complex was the first one on a street that dead-ended into a small golf course. You're new to town, you assume the ones down the street are higher, so you don't go any further. The ones next door were better managed, and they built a full-service gym for residents while I looked on from my palatial-looking digs with doorknobs that came off in your hand and refrigerators that worked most of the time. Next to the dumpster. In the back of the complex, where all the oddballs live. Oddballs like me.
Living in a government town means two things: crazy is normal, and you have no friends. But I had one -- for almost a year. Rocky. My pal.
You see, I had to dress up every working day and go downtown to where laws are made (no, seeing sausage made looks better). Very formal, "Yes, Senator; No, Mister Chairman; I'm just leaving, Mister Sergeant at Arms bigger than my parents' house. And I'm leaving quietly too, see? Bye." Very demanding: "What did he say? They passed what bill? Just now? What was the vote? What do you mean you won't tell me? I squared you on the debate yesterday! What do you mean 'that was then'?" So, you needed a break when you got home. You needed to see or at least hear from a friend who did not judge you, who made his own rules, who lived like (and looked like) a bandit and got away with it, time after time. And that was my pal, Rocky. Rocky, the raccoon.
The odd angular roof line was mostly empty space underneath. It held large support beams, electric wiring, insulation, our ceiling (which made its floor) and not much else. Maintenance could get up there (rarely), but residents had no access. So, hey, a tree house just right for a raccoon! Also for squirrels. Little grey fuzzy fellows that squeaked. Squeaked when they got scared. Squeaked when they saw Rocky's beady eyes glowing at them in the dark. I didn't realize raccoons liked squirrels so much. But it appears they do. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Since Rocky was largely nocturnal, I got to hear his adventures across my ceiling at night. "Go get him, Rocky! He's been driving me crazy up there for a week!" You'd hear silence, then a terrified squeak, and then the pitter-patter of little clawed feet ripping like lightning across the ceiling. Then, a fury of mad pitter-pattering in the corner, and then ... silence. Dead calm.
No smell. Rocky took care of things. He also was fun to watch in the evenings. You see, raccoons like to hang around dumpsters, because they are losing their habitat in the States as "civilization" advances. They can also be a threat to humans, because some of the rodents they chase (not squirrels) can carry rabies. Little bitty mice don't really bite humans unless you corner one and are dumb enough to try and grab him. But they can bite raccoons, and raccoons have fangs that can tear into your flesh very quickly. They are not often intimidated and can be very territorial. I was content to let Rocky perform his nightly drama in my "attic" undisturbed. If you leave them alone, they usually leave you alone.
But then, a good thing, as all good things must, came to an end. It started when Rocky (now quite large) appeared on the roof to watch his human friends most evenings. He would perch above my apartment and watch us come home from work. We'd open a beer, start a grill, get some meat on it, and he'd know where to go for leftovers that night. One evening, Rocky was bold. He didn't hide behind the fake gable; he was an inch from the gutter! "You'd better watch it, Rocky," I told him silently, and pointed my finger at him with my warning. He looked straight at me and ducked his little bandit's head.
The next week, as I was trekking down the hill to the laundry room (my nocturnal activity), I saw Rocky climbing from one third-story deck rail down to the next one like Spider-man. He was bigger than an alley cat, and twice as muscular. The bigger he got, the bolder he became. I knew it was a matter of time.
Then, on a clear Saturday morning, a white truck parked next to my car, and two men got out with some nasty looking implements. I went inside and closed the blinds. I didn't want to know.
Sure enough, no more squirrel attacks. No more peeking around alcoves and phoney roof gables. No more private communications between me and my secret friend. Rocky, oh, Rocky, how I miss you! (Sob!)
It goes to show you: Whom Fate would destroy, she first makes great. And gives plenty of squirrels.
A footnote:* after I moved out a few years later, I learned that new management had come in, and spent time and money fixing up the place. I'm confident raccoons don't have roof entry now, and no doorknobs come off, the fridges are good, everyone knows exactly what they're renting, and the place next door now rents at parity. Things do get better sometimes.
___
*I didn't start calling them "afternotes" until years later. This one was added a day or so after the initial post was made.
LJ orig.: 11/20/06
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