Determined to settle the matter, the couple decided to take action. They bought the most expensive humane traps available and scattered them across the basement floor, baiting them with peanut butter and crackers. Mark spent an entire evening sealing up tiny cracks in the floorboards, convinced that a simple pest problem was at the heart of Luna’s distress. They waited for the tell-tale snap of a trap, but the nights remained silent, save for that rhythmic, dull thudding coming from beneath their feet.
The following afternoon, they called an exterminator for a professional opinion. He spent two hours in the crawlspace with a high-powered lamp and a thermal camera, checking every joist and corner. He emerged looking more confused than when he arrived, dusting thick cobwebs off his coveralls with a deep frown. “I’ll be honest with you,” he told them, glancing nervously at Luna. “There isn’t a single dropping, nest, or chewed wire in this entire cellar. It’s the cleanest basement I’ve seen in twenty years. Whatever your cat is looking at, it isn’t a rodent.”