No. 407

The cracks in the wall are becoming alarming. Perhaps more so because, about ten minutes ago, I think I saw something moving around inside there.

Don’t quote me on this later, but whatever it was seemed fuzzy. And either there’s more than one, or the whatever-it-is is bigger than a raccoon.

You’re going to say that I should have expected something like this for the price that I’m paying. In my defense, the pictures in the ad were pretty sweet. Now, I suppose, when I see a “beautiful mountain cabin” touted, I’ll know to do a little more research before I hand over the cash for a week’s stay.

But I’m getting off topic, here. The main problem is the whatever-it-is. I’ve done a thorough search of all the cupboards and closets, and my best tools are, at the moment, a tennis racquet, a bent golf club, and a wicker basket.

I’ve got to get it, or I won’t be sleeping here tonight. It’s a six hour drive back home. It’s too late for that. I have no choice but to attempt a capture.

Nothing that’s really dangerous makes a chirping noise, right?