Tessa
Iwake and stretch feeling refreshed after that long bath last night … and then I remember what I had momentarily forgot.
The raccoon, the wrecked cabin. I shift and a small sore spot on my hip reminds me I basically dove off the porch yesterday.
Right. That happened.
I sit up slowly, rubbing a hand over my face, and pick up my phone from the nightstand. Time to call pest control.
I pace toward the window and dial the number I found on a local sitelast night. After three rings, a voicemail kicks in that is way too cheerful for what I’m dealing with.
“You’ve reached Bugged Out Wildlife Services, Cady Springs. If it hops, slithers, or skitters … we handle it! Please leave your name, number, and the nature of your pest problem. We’ll call you back as soon as possible!”
I blink at the phone. Did he sayskitters?
After the beep, I try to sound calm and not like someone who got evicted by a raccoon.
“Hi, yes. This is Tessa Montgomery. I’m calling about a raccoon situation at my family’s lake cabin. It’s … urgent. There could be more than one. I’m not sure. The actual address is 46 Cady Hollow Road. Please call back.”
I hang up and blow out a breath. Breakfast. I need carbs and caffeine before I attempt war.
Downstairs, the lodge dining room is mountain chic with rustic wood beams,white linens, a waffle bar that smells like vanilla heaven. I slide into a corner booth and order coffee, eggs, and toast. I’m halfway through my morning feast when my phone buzzes.
“This is Bugged Out Wildlife Services,” a man answers, all gruff and matter-of-fact.
“Yes, hi,” I say, trying not to sound overeager. “Thanks for calling back. I left a message about …”
“The raccoons,” he finishes. “Yeah, we’ve had calls up that way lately. That hollow’s been active this season. If we come out to assess, it’s six hundred. That covers the first inspection.”
I blink. “Six hundred dollars just to look at it?”
“That’s right. Then it’s two-fifty per animal. Extra if they’re nesting. Which … raccoons in a lake cabin? You’re probably lookin’ at a family of five or six.”
I choke on my bite of toast. “Wait, per animal? Like … per raccoon? How many do you think are in there, a full marching band?”
“Hard to say till we get eyes on it. You want to book?”
I swallow and stare at my plate. “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”
“Good luck,” he says, and hangs up like he already knows I’m not calling back.
I sip the rest of my coffee in silence, eyes fixed on the untouched corner of my eggs. No way am I spending two grand on rodent relocation. That would wipe out a chunk of the budget before I even buy paint or other supplies.
Fine. I can do this. I’ve got gloves. I’ve got grit. I’ve got YouTube.
After breakfast, I check out of the lodge and drive into town, pulling into a small hardware store with faded signage that reads:Thorne’s General Supply – Hardware, Feed & Home Repair.
A bell tinkles as I step inside. The place smells like fertilizer and paint. Theman behind the counter looks like he’s been part of the building since it opened.
“Help you find somethin’?” he asks, tipping his cap back.
“Yeah,” I say. “I need to deal with some … uninvited guests. At a cabin. Raccoons.”
He whistles. “Nasty little buggers. Smart, too. You sure you want to handle that yourself?”
“Not really. But I also don’t want to pay upwards of two thousand dollars for someone else to do it.”
He chuckles and nods, like that matches the experience of others he has known.
