I believe I’ve mentioned in previous posts about how utterly suck my apartment complex is. I know I’ve mentioned the parking debacle, but now we have a fantastic new development.

We live on the top floor of a three-story building. There’s empty space above us, I think for ductwork and such, but no apartment and no people. About a week ago, my fiancee and I heard a strange scratching, rustling sound coming from the ceiling. We tapped the area with a broom handle and were rewarded with scampering footsteps. Obviously, some sort of local wildlife had found its way into the attic area directly above our apartment and was making itself right at home. Not comfortable with rodent-based life forms living overhead, I called the apartment office the next day to report the problem.

“We have some sort of animal living in the area above our apartment.”
“What makes you think it’s an animal?” they asked. Personally, I thought that was a pretty stupid question.
“Well, it’s running around and, by the sound of things, chewing on wood and wires. So unless you’re missing a maintenance guy who’s gone feral, it’s an animal.”
“We’ll send someone over right away.”

Turns out “right away” actually means “never” as a week has gone by and absolutely nothing has been done. The critter is still up there. Worse, it sounds like now he has friends, and some of them are large. We’ve had some pretty serious thuds from up above. I envision a raccoon and a ‘possum helping each other drag in little couches and end tables.

I’ve called the office twice more, still with no results. I called again today, Sunday, and was told that there were no maintenance people available on Sunday, apparently because nothing ever breaks on the weekends.

“You do understand that this thing is chewing up your property, right?” I asked the woman on the phone. “Isn’t it in your best interest to stop it before it does any more damage?”
“There’s nothing I can do today. I can put in another maintenance request and have them call you, if that would help.”
“How exactly will that help?”
“Well… you’ll know that they’re going to look into it.”
“Can’t you call Animal Control?”
“No, this is a maintenance issue.”
“Well, they’re not around. Tell you what, I’ll call Animal Control for you.”
“Oh, no. You can’t do that. It’s not your property. We have to do that.”
“OK, then do that.”
“I can’t. That’s a maintenance issue.”

They all used to be government employees, you can just tell.

So as I type this, the increasingly bold critter and his friends sound like they’re having a rave party directly above my head. And they’re chewing on the rafters for appetizers. And all I can do is wait for tomorrow for the maintenance guy to call (assuming he even will) which will somehow miraculously fix all of our problems.

I wonder if I can at least charge the furry little bastard rent?