Defending against creepy invaders

The invaders walked right in and made themselves at home. The cockroaches helped themselves to party foods and favors in the kitchen and bathrooms. I shadowed and smashed any I could catch when I interrupted their nocturnal parties. I shot deadly sprays along the paths they used as they escaped. I dusted their favorite corners with poison guaranteed to give them a stomach ache for life.
They slunk away only to return with egg-laden females. Little ones joined the dance and defied my presence. I made an appointment to have a professional help me with my miserable home life.
He came, nodded his head wisely and inspected the most secluded, intimate parts of my house. He shoved inside the bottles of cleaning of fluids jumbled together under the kitchen sink. He crawled in among the helter-skelter stacks of pots and pans. And he found (blush) my secret hiding place for unfinished projects.
He was as invasive as the bugs, but he promised to eliminate the creepy crawlers so I let him come back for a second or third foray until I saw no more little gate crashers, just big ones.
Like the white cat who wandered through our opened front door one pleasant evening. Except for its yellow eyes, that the cat looked exactly like our cat with one blue and one green eye.
My daughter loves cats. I tolerate them. She reached out to pet it. In one motion, that spy showed its true colors. It champed down hard on her hand and gashed her forearm, drawing blood. She recovered from the shock of the attack in the emergency room. The cat was captured, locked in our garage, fed and watched for sings of rabies. Satisfied it was not rabid, we opened the door and told it to leave and never return.
It didn’t listen. I came back, time and again.
Each time it came, I had to look at its eyes to see if either was blue like our cat. Every time I stared into those eyes that cat meowed piteously. I didn’t care. I hardened my heart, “No, Cat. You slashed my child.” I slammed the door in its face. It took a lot of door slamming, but it finally left and never came back.
I thought we were through with the invasion of unwanted critters.
I was wrong.
We heard something poking around in the garage. It sounded bigger than a whole herd of cockroaches. My husband tiptoed down the hall to me and whispered, “I think we have a raccoon.”
“Naah, I heard scratching out there last night. Probably that cat.”
“It’s a raccoon,” he insisted.
I clomped after him to the garage. “I don’t see anything,” I declared and left.
He pulled down to the folding stairs to check the attic.
The noise returned. We peeped through the door. It was an ugly, ole possum nosing around those steps. Our white cat, the same one with one blue eye, crouched down and hissed a warning, but kept its distance.
And it can jolly well stay away. I have had it with invaders making themselves at home in my house.