Dry spell not an option here

Just when I decided I had nothing to write about this week, a chipmunk got into my basement.
I stood in the doorway of the porch in my housecoat, with my coffee cup in hand, and scowled at the rain pitching down on my soon-to-be growing too fast lawn.
I still have to install my lawn tractor battery. I am a pathological optimist in my view on life, but you can bet I will forget it’s the positive side that gets connected first when I attach the cables to the battery terminal.
Anyway, so there I was, leaning back taking it easy watching the sky fall, when I felt a claw-like flit of movement over the top of my foot and up my calf under my housecoat.
I squealed and looked down to see a bug-eyed chipmunk—rabid, I think—or clearly terrorized after it realized I was not wearing anything under my housecoat. It leapt over my feet and down the stairs to the basement in a millisecond.
Two cats live here and neither of them saw thing as they slept with their big fat bellies pouring over the side of the chairs in the porch.
“You’re both fired!” I scolded. All I got back was the flat stare.
My basement is not that big, but it is full of stuff that makes great hiding places for a chipmunk.
I must have looked quite the sight in my morning get-up—a modern-day “Ma Kettle” with my hair all askew—as I crept around down there peering in boxes and bags full of stored coats and blankets, hoping not to be attacked by a small flying ball of rodent fur.
Lucky for me, I found a landing net for my big fish story hanging on the basement wall. I could poke at things with it and prevent the little critter from eating off my hand if I found where it was hiding.
But no sooner had I grabbed and held the net up above my head to explore the shelf junk did the chipmunk explode from between the deep fryer and a fan and straight into the capture zone.
If you think you’ve seen the “Tasmanian Devil” in your two-year old child having a conniption in the cookie aisle at the grocery store when you say “No” to that snack, you haven’t seen a chipmunk stuck in a landing net.
It was all I could do to keep the writhing and possessed animal from vaulting out and—to the edges of my imagination—down the front of my housecoat. I raced up the stairs and outside, set the net down, and stood far back.
Within a few minutes, the landing net had been eaten clear through and the good riddance chipmunk was last seen headed east to the sunflower seed sanctuary.
As for me, I also have another story to write about the groundhog that cornered me in the tool shed that same afternoon.
There’s never a dull day around here.