fuck rat

I hate rats.


One evening, I was on the phone to a friend in my bedroom. I looked up and simply watched this rat trot across our landing.

It went out of my view and while I sat, horrified and dumbstruck, it must have turned around.

Because it trotted back again.

I started shouting for my husband who, as is the way with husbands, wasn’t paying attention because he was watching baseball with headphones on.

I had to keep an eye on the rat while trying to keep calm while trying to propel my husband into some kind of action.
It was hard.

I got a broom, he made some strange noises.

And we managed, while attempting to scare it outside with special ninja moves we practice on a Saturday night, to drive the thing into the pantry.

Great.
We shut the door to ponder our next move.

It was a holiday weekend and rat catching people don’t seem to work on holiday weekends.

Someone we knew who lives far away and does this kind of thing, told us to close all the doors, put towels against all of them and hang tight.
Double great.

The next day, after a fitful night of sleep, I was woken up by one boy wanting to know where his favorite cereal was.

‘Where were you looking?’

‘In the pantry?’

‘Did you shut the door?’ My voice was rising in panic.
‘No.’

Shooing my husband into action again, and with a lot of banging later, the pantry was pronounced a rat-free zone. More greatness.

Now we had a rat roaming the house.
Possibly.

My husband then declared the pantry fit for use. I responded by telling him I had no faith in his judgment.
I wasn’t going to be rifling among the tins only to come upon a rat.

The four of us got in a fireman’s ladder. My husband in the pantry, the two boys, and me, naturally, the furthest away.

We’d lost it again. It. could. be. anywhere.
I never wanted that party-in-the-park to end.

This time we had dinner not knowing where the blasted thing was.

We lived like this for FIVE days until a pest control person could fit us in.
It was like living with a terrorist.

I was on perpetual alert.

We never knew where or when it would show itself. I never knew if it was going to jump out at me. Every time I put my hand in a cupboard or a drawer, I peered, I cringed, I peered again. I would examine everything for signs of rat.

And when I shut the kids bedroom doors at night, I didn’t know if I was keeping a rat out or shutting it in. With my child.

I certainly didn’t go in the pantry.
It was the longest few days of my life.