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The Attic

I looked up at the ceiling. I could hear it, scrabbling about in the attic. It wasn’t something small like a mouse. It was definitely bigger than that, and it was on the move.

I stepped onto the front porch, and looked up at the aluminum soffits. It was right there, claws on the thin metal like chalk shrieking across a blackboard. It was definitely bigger than a mouse, bigger than a squirrel.

It left the soffits, heading back into the attic proper, and I went into the house. It was above the kitchen, then above the master bedroom. Momentarily quiet, it soon returned to the kitchen ceiling, and began to scratch into the ceiling drywall.

The dog, normally fascinated by anything that moved in the house, retreated to the basement when the noise began. That was nearly six hours ago, and I hadn’t been able to coax it out from there for anything. It would likely have preferred to be outside, but that would have meant coming back upstairs. Dumb animal.

The scratching continued. Bigger than a ’possum, I thought.

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