If you have ever owned and sold a home you know the stress and frustration that comes with it when you decide to sell. There are so many things to consider. There are big dollars to be paid out and received. There is the painful effort of pre-packing, then packing, then loading, then transporting, then unloading, then unpacking. I always tell myself that I will never do it again. And here’s a little secret about me. I don’t have a seven year itch, but I do have a fourteen year itch. My wife and I have relocated several times at about the fourteen year time frame. Weird huh?
When it came time to sell our riverfront property we started up the shenanigans once again. It was hard enough to leave a boating lifestyle, one that we had come to adore. But our life was meant for something new and we knew it. Some minor repairs and painting were in order, but for the most part, the house was in great shape thanks to a rather significant remodeling project just a few years earlier. We began selling and giving away things we had accumulated but would no longer need when moving to a suburban high rise condominium. Things like almost everything in my garage. Why would I need three hammers when I only have two hands?
We selected a highly recommended real estate agent, signed the documents and created a MLS listing. We were on the market. Before we knew it, there was a lockbox on our front door with a key in it. Things were about to happen.
We woke up early for weeks to take the time to make the house ready to be shown. We checked all the rooms and the outside lawns and gardens. It was when I checked the front porch that I noticed there were mouse feces littered all over the porch floor. This is terrible. The first impression is compromised. I rushed into the house and retrieved a broom. Within minutes I had it tidied up. I gathered my things and left for work the same time Carrie did. With a kiss we were gone. I received a call that day from an agent requesting a viewing. This was getting exciting.
The first viewing did not go well. They thought the price was too high. We thought they were stupid for passing up such a beautiful home right on the Fox River. So that’s how our routine began. Always checking that everything was in order before leaving for work. One small problem… the mouse.
Morning after morning I found myself on the front porch cleaning up after that little squirt. It was time to take matters into my own hands. Over the weekend we took a drive out to the rural megastore called Blair’s Farm & Fleet. This huge store was filled with many departments that catered to farmers. You could outfit your horse, buy blue jeans for the family and add more items to your camping essentials. We were there for something else. A trap.
I found it odd that all of the food for outdoor animals were in the same aisle as the poison and traps. The ceilings of the building were filled with small flying birds. There always seemed to be an opened bag of bird food in that aisle and they knew it. But we were looking for something else. We stood in front of a shelf full of traps. They came in various sizes. Apparently you could trap an oversized rat if you wanted to. We only needed a standard size mousetrap and that’s what we bought.
That evening I set the trap on the porch and baited it with some cheese. Come to papa!
In the morning I checked in on the trap. The cheese bait was still there. And, to add insult to injury, there was mouse excrement on the trap. This was no ordinary mouse. It seemed to be hell-bent on torturing me. Day after day, week after week I cleaned up after this evil rodent. We were getting a regular stream of showings now, but the fact of the matter was we were smack dab in the middle of a buyer’s market and they knew it.
As I swept every morning and cursed, I kept trying to outsmart this little guy. Peanut butter didn’t work, nor did chocolate, jam or bacon. But his aim on the trap never missed. My next step was to scream and start pulling out my hair.
One day while watering our gardens the next door neighbor, named Mike as well, stopped by to pay us a friendly visit. We always gathered to talk about life in general.
“Hey Mike, how’s it going?” my neighbor asked me.
“I’m doing great. How are you?” I returned.
“I’m just fine. Looks like you got a haircut or at least your ears lowered.”
“Yeah, it was time to chop some off.” I said.
“You know the difference between a bad haircut and a good one?” He asked with a bit of a smirk. I took the bait.
“No, I don’t know what the difference is?” I said.
“Three days.” Ugh. He got me. And then at some point in the conversation he simply uttered:
“Hey Mike, did you ever catch that bat that is living on the ceiling of your front porch? He’s been there a while.”
“What???” I never thought to look up.
One more trip to Farm & Fleet and the poison aisle and I found a caulking tube labeled, Bat Be Gone.
Problem solved, house sold.
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That fixed that, but don’t forget about the woodpecker that Mike helped us with too. Good to have observant neighbors.
I thought I commented already. What a selling experience that was. Hope we never live throw that again. What a home that was.
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