Saturday, August 19, 2000

 

1:44 a.m. Remember how I just remarked, recently, about how easily we get used to things? How we slip into the current perception and think it's how things are? I was talking about small TV, big TV, but I could just as easily have been talking about vermin.

Yes. It's back. The rat is alive and well, and -- obviously thriving here in our house. I thought it had gone away because I haven't seen hide nor hair of it, and I've pranced around, barefoot, as if I lived here alone. I do not. I share this place with a very bold, very brazen varmit.

Tonight, we're sitting in the middle room, happily watching the big TV when suddenly we hear a distinct *sound* from the kitchen, just one room away. It was very distinct. Sort of like a closet door closing smartly. Which is what it was.

I look over to the kitchen and wonder. Maybe a bag of something fell over, I think. No biggie. And then suddenly, I see him. He's not running, he's not fleeing, he's not even hurrying. And all the lights are on -- it might as well be broad daylight in there.

He casually meanders across the kitchen floor, and of course -- heads for my office, Igor follows him and he ... (the rat) ... actually pauses. Pauses. And then he stands up on his rear legs for a moment, and then he goes ... away. Somewhere.

If only the back door had been open, maybe he would have strolled right on out. As it stands now, we're buying the poison tomorrow and then we have the joy of raticide to look forward to. You dirty rats. I killed your muddah. Yick.

What really gives me pause is how I have to keep adjusting my reality -- from skin crawling, sitting on my feet on the chair, creepy cold chills up and down my arms, to not a single rat-thought in the world. From looking down obsessively to never even glancing at the floor.

It's so weird. I happily vacuumed all day today, never once thinking he was back. or still here. I believe he's got a path through the walls from the back of my office to the inside of the pots and pans cupboard. That's my theory of the evening.

If I'd had my camera in my hands, I could have very easily taken his photo. He probably would have slicked back his whiskers and smiled a big toothy grin for you. Rat bastard. Must buy poison.

Ok. My legs are cramping and I want to take a hot bath and then spray the entire house with Lysol. Or move. I know it's always something, and of course I'm glad it's not scorpions. It could be worse. It could be a possum. I've seen them outside running along the top of the wall and they look like rats on steroids.

It's actually made me nostalgic for the cutsy little mouse we had. Not really. Not really. I'm babbling. I hope he continues to keep his distance. I hope he has some respect. That's my only hope, really.

Who am I kidding? I don't have a rat in my house. I'm through the looking glass. My rooms are flimsy anterooms to the real tunnel and maze complex that is his domain. I merely live on the surface. It's really his house.