I Lived Under a Sinking Slab: A Rodent's Tell-All Memoir

By Cheddar “Two-Toes” McWhiskers

You know those gaping cracks in your driveway you pretend not to see? Yeah. That was my front door for six months.

They called it “settling.” I called it prime real estate. A cozy little cavern under a sunken slab, complete with dirt floors, a constant draft, and the occasional dropped Dorito from your car. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better setup—until the humans finally caught on. But let me start from the beginning.

It all started last fall when the soil shifted and that concrete slab outside your garage decided it was too tired to stay level. Drooped like an old mattress. Perfect. Before you knew it, the gap between slab and soil was wide enough to drive a mini-cooper through—if that mini-cooper was a family of mice, a few spiders, and a raccoon named Todd.

We made ourselves at home. You wouldn’t believe the nightlife under a concrete gap. We had tunnels, secret exits, a peanut butter jar someone dropped in 2007—it was paradise. And as long as you kept ignoring it, we were golden.

But here’s the thing about sunken slabs: they’re not just cozy. They’re an invitation. Mice, snakes, ants, chipmunks—we’re not picky. If you leave us a gap, we’re moving in. And once we’re under your driveway, we’re just one poorly sealed basement wall away from crashing your movie night.

You thought that hole was “no big deal.” That it was “just a little uneven.” Meanwhile, I was building a rodent empire.

Then one day, it happened. A big white truck pulled up. Out came the Woods Basement Systems crew. I peeked out expecting another Amazon package, but nope—they brought the PolyLevel. And in 15 minutes flat, our secret lair was sealed tighter than your Tupperware drawer.

Just like that, my kingdom crumbled.

So now I’m on the run. No slab. No home. No Dorito crumbs. Just a half-eaten granola bar and a dream. Thanks Woods...