Learning to Live with the Neighbors
“So let me get this straight,” the home inspector says to you and Mary when you tour the house you’re about to buy. “You owned a Victorian, and bought another? Why!?!”
The message clear — don’t do it. And yet here you are, about to… do it.
When you walk in the front hall, you instantly love the feel of the place. Tall ceilings, open staircase, all the attention to detail and craft. But these houses have been standing for over a hundred years, and no matter how much money you pour into them, there’s always something else, like dealing with the wildlife who also reside in your new home, and have been for way longer than you have or will. Oh, there’s a reason these animals have been around since the beginning of time.
First, after you’ve lived in the house for a while, you will have to fumigate to rid yourselves the the moths who have taken up residence in your clothing.
“Did someone blast a shotgun at the back of your pants?” your cousin will say to you of the favorite wool pants you’re wearing to a family event.
Horrified, you laugh it off and take note to check the rest of your closet, which results in having to throw out most of your clothes, which is OK since everyone now wears the same three things in rotation due to lock-down inspired work from home policies. Still, you’ll also have to move out of the house, not for a day, or even a weekend. No, it’ll be a full week to avoid being poisoned, after which you will have to wash all your clothes more often then even your mother did when you wore diapers.
Once you have those pesky moths temporarily at bay—think cicadas—you’ll find animal droppings in the unfinished basement you’ve used to store everything from your grandparents andirons to the baseball mitts you’ve saved since high school. Sure signs of the small pests you can’t bare to name, because they make you want to sell the place immediately, even at a loss, and move into a brand new condo in the Seaport District.
“Ha!” Mary says to your ludicrous idea. “Down there they have more problems than we do. Where do you think all the wildlife’s gonna live when the water rises?” Besides, if you moved to the Seaport you’d have to once again change clothes more often, not to mention behave like a millennial, which is something you know nothing about, even with the help of ChatGPT.
Oh, just when you didn’t think things could get any worse, you’ll find a bat hanging out in the stairway leading up to your bedroom, which you called ‘the sanctuary’, until now. Nothing peaceful about a bat hanging around all day, ready to swoop around in the middle of the night. And don’t think about killing the bat, because they are on the good guy team, even if you’re terrified of the fangs. Bats eat the mosquitoes you fear are bringing Malaria, West Nile and triple E to your neighborhood, so take a deep breath before you trap and release your little miracle of night flight. In fact, convince Mary you’re up to the task, though you know you aren’t, and will in the end need her to step up and take care of business. Which she will, because she grew up spending time on a farm, while you grew up in the city.
Speaking of cities, your Victorian is situated on a tree lined street with a squirrel population to rival the rodents in your basement. The very same squirrels you thought the previous owners had evicted some dozen years ago have returned to cut a hole in the crown of one of the distinctive dormers you’d now like to replace with solar panels. That’s right, your beautiful Victorian’s got wildlife in, under, and over your heads, all of them taking refuge just when you’d declared your nest empty.
Just when you’re ready to give up, you ask your general contractor about options to clear the place, and he says,
“You could have them sign leases.” You hadn’t considered this option, but maybe you should.
