in the attic

there's
something in the attic.
the pitter pat
of small paws
in the rafters, or is
it the rattle of wings
you hear, the tiny
scratching
claws of leathered
bats.
squirrels perhaps
with their riot minds,
a raccoon who has gnawed
his way in
to burrow for the night
in pink insulation.
but it's late,
you don't want to drag
the ladder down
and climb
up to see.
shining your light
into their yellow eyes,
swiping at the webs,
let them
have their night of fun,
whoever they are, go
back to sleep,
let them be.