Are you troubled by strange creatures that cling to your slippers at night?
Do you experience feelings of dread in the basement or attic, or that one corner by the central air vent?
Have you or your family ever been attacked by a hairball, dirt demon or dust bunny?
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Yesterday I found myself tackling a full-torso, free-roaming fibrous accumulation behind the bed. I have no idea how long it had been lurking there, plotting, growing, occasionally sending off sections of itself-- we call 'em "scouts" in the trade-- to check out the potential for full-fledged domestic takeover.
With the scouts typically sucked up and contained fairly quickly, the Class 2 dirt demon had found its information lacking. Its minions never to return. Its nefarious plot temporarily delayed.
That did not prevent it from a full-baseboard, sub-bedframe haunting.
The equipment for the work is pretty straight-forward. A Shop-Vac handheld 350X with a particle inhalation attachment. I call it the Slurper. I shot out only about a half-power oxy-vac ray and, for all its bluster, the dirt demon didn't stand a chance.
Oh, sure, it cursed my name and made idle threats to return again, I hadn't seen the last of it, and blah, blah, blah. But, they all do, don't they? It's a part of the genre. I sometimes wish they'd put a little more originality into the patter. Just to mix things up a little.
Of course, there are also the Class 5 animorphics, which are fun. They get particularly tricky if you have pets. What they like to do is collect in common areas-- say under a dining chair, in a corner, on a windowsill. And then they try to impersonate your beloved dog or cat.
Yep, some of these Class 5 animorphics have gone years pretending to be your dear Mr. Muggles or Captain Meowsers. The most cunning of them have even been known to get the homeowner to take 'em for a walk... buy them little outfits... blog for them.
It's sometimes even hard to convince the homeowner that it isn't Petey Pupperkins there, but his dusty doppleganger. The ower puts up a fight. Then you slurp up the fake Petey leaving nothing behind but a couple old buttons and a paperclip, and they have to admit they might have been mistaken.
The sense of betrayal is what gets 'em.
We'll find ol' Pupperkins down in the basement, tied up with bits of sewing thread and lost twist ties, though, and the clients' relief is all worth it. That's when I ask them to write me a check.
Anyway, I have to go. I've got to tag and bag that dust demon and a couple of animorphics. I don't like to leave 'em together too long before they start to mass and mobilize.
This house is clean.
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