An attic keeps receipts. Long after the animal is gone — or while it's still up there — the space records what visited, how long it stayed, and how it got in. Reading that record accurately is the difference between an honest scope of work and a scary sales pitch, and it's the part of the job I take most seriously.
The four things I read
- Droppings: size, shape, and concentration identify the animal and the activity level. A scatter near one entry point is a different story from established latrines along a run.
- Tunneling and matting: rodents compress insulation into highways and nest pockets. Fresh tunneling is defined and fluffy at the edges; old damage settles and dusts over.
- Rub marks and gnawing: greasy smears at entry edges and chewed wood, wiring, or ducting mark the active routes — and flag the fire and air-quality risks honestly, without inflating them.
- Daylight and airflow: light leaking at eaves and penetrations shows you the doors. Where air moves, animals can move.
Old vs. active — the honest call
Plenty of attics show evidence of a visitor from five years ago. Dating evidence — dust on droppings, settled tunnels, no fresh sign — matters because the right recommendation for a historic visit is monitor and seal, not a full remediation. I write what I found, what I think it means, and how sure I am, in plain language, with photos. If it's old, I say it's old.
That honesty is the whole business model. The attic will still be there at the next inspection — and so will my note.