Me, My Mother And The Raccoon In The Attic

I had lunch with my mother last week and she mentioned a smell at my step-grandparent's house. A dead smell.

Seems there might be a dead animal in the attic. Mom thought it might be a raccoon.

"Has anyone been up to see what it is?" I asked, innocently.

"Oh, no." Mom replied.

"Don't you think someone should go up?" said I...setting my own trap.

"Well...we thought about sending Matty up..." she answered.

Matty is my 11 year old nephew.

So I'm sure you can see what happened next.

I went up in the attic.

The smell was in the far corner of the house from the attic access hole in the garage.

So up I went. Crawling across the attic on the joists...on my knees. Comfortable.

And there...in an inaccessible corner. Sure enough.

A. Big. Dead. Raccoon.

Good times.

I couldn't get to him...he was tucked in a corner just out of reach.

After some consultation with my step dad...who was conveniently at work.

We decided to cut him out.

I prepared myself.

But there are just some things you can't truly prepare for.

He was stuck. Really stuck.

After much pulling and trying not to vomit. I successfully removed the dead, stinky raccoon from the ceiling.

Then after I showered, my mom and I went and had a beer.

Okay, I had two.