Two years ago we installed a $50,000 solar array on our roof in Minneapolis. We got into a really good incentive program that will pay for the system over ten years. At the time, our installer recommended that we get squirrel guard – a wire mesh fence around the edge of the panels so animals can’t get under them. Cost for squirrel guard? $900. I wasn’t going to fall for that scam. I called our tree trimmers out and they trimmed the tree that was the obvious super highway to our roof. Cost? $180. Savings? $720. I am a genius.
Fast forward to last month, when according to our phone app, half the solar panels weren’t generating electricity. The solar crew came out: squirrels are living under the panels and have eaten the wires. How are they getting up there? Magic. Cost to fix the chewed wires, plus installing squirrel guard? $4800.
The timing of this news has been great. I had my last chemo on Wednesday. Got the squirrel news on Thursday. Bob went into a reflexive panic when he saw the bid: it was the straw that broke the camel’s back that day. We can’t get ahead. We aren’t on track for retirement. We are doomed. I've been sick for months, so instead of reassuring him I also decided to panic. Between steroids and side effects, I don’t sleep very well the days after chemo. I got to think about the motherfucking squirrels all night long, over a couple nights. Only I wasn’t really thinking about the squirrels. I was thinking about the bad decisions I’ve made. All the things I’ve ever bought that I didn’t need. All the things I’ve said and regretted. I’ve had interminable chemo-hazed hours to review each and every one of them.
It didn’t help that we had also just dropped sort of a ridiculous pile of money on an impulse chair purchase. I was awake in the middle of the night (steroids), surfing Craig’s List for end tables for the cabin, when I came across a listing that included a fancy leather massage chair. I wasn’t looking for a massage chair; I was looking for end tables. We efficiently tested and secured both the massage chair AND another chair the people were selling less than 24 hours after seeing the listing. We got the chairs on the way home from chemo.
We got the squirrel news the next day.
Squirrels are costing us more than cancer. My out-of-pocket health deductible PLUS the ridiculous chair impulse buy is still less than the squirrel damage. During those sleepless nights, I tried to get my brain interested in fantasizing horrific and painful squirrel deaths, but it preferred focusing on what an idiot I am. I only have a vague squirrel plan. It involves gasoline, fire crackers and a trebuchet.
Final chemo, Day 6. Other than the squirrel setback, this round is going well so far. Other rounds, I’ve made the mistake of predicting that I’d feel great at a certain point, and scheduling activities accordingly. Then in real life, when I still felt like shit and had to cancel plans, I was failing. I wasn’t recovering fast enough. This time, I’m not scheduling anything, I’m telling myself that this will be the absolute worst round, all the cumulative poison will catch up to me, and I’ll be lucky to survive.
Compared to that, it’s been easy peasy. Even with the motherfucking squirrels.