Honestly, this rat is so smart I'm going to hate killing it; well, not really. As you may remember, my mother saw a rat in her house a few weeks ago. I've set out glue traps AND D-Con and so far no rat, dead or alive. There are, however, signs of rat. Such as the half-gnawed glue trap with black fur stuck in it a couple of weeks ago. He chewed himself free. For a while I was convinced that he was living IN my mother's couch because that was really the only place I've seen those lovely rat droppings. And that's where the half-gnawed trap was. At that time I loaded the underside of the couch with four glue traps and one tasty D-Con serving. Ever since then - nothing.
I was in my mother's kitchen the other day and by the portable dishwasher I saw rat droppings along the baseboard. I rolled out the dishwasher, and while the evidence is not overwhelming, I think Mr. Rat may be taking refuge either in the portable dishwasher (which is seldom used) or somewhere else in the kitchen. I pulled one of the four glue traps from under the couch and have placed it under the dishwasher. I've also placed another D-Con tray under there. So as it is now, I have one trap and one D-Con under the dishwasher, and 3 traps and a D-Con under the couch. There are six other glue traps scattered in discrete places throughout the house (well hell, I can't put them where Mom can see them because she thinks Steve killed the rat with a broom; yes, we are both going to hell).
Every single time my phone rings my heart jumps because I know it is my mother calling to report a rat sighting. That's guilt working for you. I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, as they say. I know this isn't over but the pressure is KILLING me!
1 comment:
I may be going to hell for lying about killing the rat, but I do have marker to fall back on.
When I was in the Air Force and stationed in Germany, we had an older German lady (Maria)who worked where I was assigned. Her job was secretarial in nature, but mostly she was hired to be our translator, since we did a lot of work with German nationals.
One day Maria came running out of the restroom yelling, "Grosse Ratte! Grosse Ratte!" (Grosse means large or big in German). So with what little bit of the German language I know, I knew she was talking about a big rat.
So, like St. George who went off to slay the dragon, I picked up the only lance that was available, a broom, and went off to save the German damsel who was in distress.
I bravely walked into the restroom and came eye to eye with a ferocious, brown-eyed, whiskered, tiny, cowering in the corner, mouse.
I bravely raised my lance and smite the beast on his head. Then, like good old St. George, I dragged, carried him in a dust pan, to the eternal hell (the dumpster) that awaited the beast.
In the eyes of Maria, I was a brave knight. My reward came the next day. Maria went home and bake a delicious German apple cake for me.
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