I’d been in denial for the past few weeks in the face of overwhelming evidence. Noises here and there, usually at night when all was relatively quiet, usually from upstairs, potentially in the attic, the walls, or underneath the floor boards. We’ll often hear them in Luke’s room (since we’ve been spending a great deal of time there trying to get him back to sleep late at night.) His head will cock, and he’ll say, “Hear that?”
I tried to convince myself it was just the house settling, the rain, the snow, the ice melting, or my imagination. Then, the other day, we found what looked like droppings behind the couch in the basement.
And late last night (or early this morning), I was prodded awake by Karen, and not because Luke was crying and it was my (long overdue) turn to get him.
She poked me several times, followed by: “Do you hear that?”
Of course I did (after I was awake). It sounded like something was scurrying around upstairs. Something of the rodent variety. And not like Despereux, or Remy from Ratatouille, or Cheese from the new Tinker Bell, or that old standby, Mickey.
It was a rat. And at least one.
Today, Karen added more fuel to the fire of my fear. She thinks it sounded like it was pushing something. Pushing something? Like what? A block of cheese? Is it working out? Not only do we have a rat, we have a rat that works out.
Furthermore, Karen thinks she heard something flapping the other day, like a bat. Did our rat invite friends?
I admit it – I’m terrified. I’m not great at the stereotypically male responsibilities of a relationship. I’m scared to use the chainsaw my parents lent us, I still haven’t fixed the snow blower, and yes, I tend to cry during cheesy movies. And with kids, there’s even more pressure. I have to do something. After all, I have a family to protect.
I’m not thrilled by the prospect of setting a trap or using rat poison, partly because I don’t to hurt an animal and partly because I’m afraid something will go awry and result in one of the following possibilities:
1) a dead animal in the attic that we won’t be able to find (and it will stink);
2) An injured animal in the attic bent on revenge (and he’ll have friends);
3) An animal that has evolved, due to our attempts to get rid of it, into an uber-animal with super powers determined to wreck our home
4) An attic haunted by a rat that we murdered,
5) Or, potentially the “best case” scenario, a dead animal in the attic that I (read: my wife) will have to remove.
As you can see, none are desirable.
I hope you enjoyed today’s serving of “mac & cheese.”
January 10, 2009 at 3:57 pm |
Hey Chuck! It’s Melinda. We’ve been following your blog out here and enjoying all the news of your family. I just had to chime in on this one with some sympathy AND empathy — last summer, during the first few months in our new house, we had two bats flying over our heads in our bedroom at night. I wanted to throw up, or die, or both. Instead, I covered my head with blankets and screamed like a 5-yr-old. We got them both out (one flew into a box fan!), but we have since been assured that we can expect this problem possibly every year. Awwwweeeeesome.