I am a lifelong Quaker. My best friend Augusten says I wear that claim like an old sheep-skin, whenever it suits me. He says, “Oh, better trot out your I’M A QUAKER, I CAN’T WASH MY OWN DISHES, AUGUSTEN.” Things like that. But really I’m a very good Child of the Light, in my way, which is a secret. I mean the ways I am good are secret ways.
My study is in a barn. Half of the barn is mine, half of it is still a barn. There is something big living on the other side, up in the rafters and the stored screen doors which are forming a ceiling. I hear it every day. Today I said to J., “When I go home to Indiana at the end of May, I’m borrowing one of Mark’s guns.” Mark is my dead brother-in-law, so he is good at lending. J. asked what for and I said, “Because I’m going to kill whatever is living in my barn.” He said, “How do you plan on going about it?” This is the sort of question a man raised by academics asks. I said, “I wait until it rains. I stand in the dark. I listen for it to begin moving. I shine a bright light on its eyes, I fire.” He said, “What if you miss?” Again. Academics.
UPDATE TO VARMINT PROBLEM:
I discovered yesterday that the creature wreaking havoc on the roof of the barn is some overgrown tree limbs. Nonetheless, I intend to shoot them.