I woke up to a hard knocking that resounded through the master bathroom. I shot straight up in bed, instinctively sure that a robber (or a very early Santa Claus) was on the roof. A hollowed pitter-patter went back and forth over the master bedroom, landing again in the restroom. Obviously I assumed the robber had found the skylight and I was about to die. When I pulled open the bathroom door, what sounded like tiny pebbles being thrown through a cement hallway (or beaks on plastic) met my ears. It turns out these two beotches wanted to party.
Despite the Peeping Toms, I went to use the commode and found a friend dancing around my ankles. We were likely as terrified as the other. I couldn’t move or else I would lose my place. He couldn’t possibly camouflage white. No one could win this battle. We’re still dueling 4 days later.
And outside, the mummy of a haunter past startled me as I pulled off a ribbon from around our tree. I don’t know how these things work, but this thing sent his message loud and clear: The animals of your yard hate you.