At least for today.
Let me explain… Charleston, SC is a beautiful place; especially this time of year. It’s the end of April and I‘ve been sleeping on a futon on my porch pretty much since it got cool last fall. There’s just something about sleeping in the cold… The days are warm and sunny and the nights are still cool, but I know that these cool and crisp nights will soon morph into sticky and sweaty. I’m aware that my nights are numbered, but for now, I‘m savoring every last night I get to spend out here.
A couple of nights ago, Bode Moses (my dog) and I were curled up on the futon watching Chelsea Lately. I didn’t hear anything except Chelsea ripping Kim Kardashian up one side and down the other, but Bode did. His little white ears perked up and that little rumble in the back of his throat began to grow louder.
Bode is just a puppy. He’s a little baby and he’s still new to us. He’s not aggressive or much of a growler, but he is a little odd (in a slightly peculiar, lovable sort of way), so I’m not sure if he knows something I don’t know and is playing the role of protector or if he’s just acting a little loco. The ceiling fan is on and from time to time it shudders, so maybe that is what he hears. Besides, I have one of those sonar thingies; you know - dogs and cats supposedly can’t hear it, but rodents can and it hurts their little ears, so they stay away. Wonder if that’s working?… Hmmm, that might have been a waste of money.
“Bode, hush”, I told him.
Five minutes later and I hear it too. I hear it scurry; little feet and tiny little nails scratching against wood somewhere on the porch. Ugh… I totally have the heebie jeebies now, but, I love my porch! I’ll try to scare him away before I give up and go inside.
I get up and start stomping around. Thump! Thump! Stomp! I grab the broom, turn it around and poke the canvas beach bag we keep in the cabinet on the porch. Scurry. Scurry. Scurry. I’m totally freaked out now. I poke at the ever-expanding pile of knee and elbow pads (the safety equipment to child ratio in my household is exceptionally high. I probably have - no exaggeration - about 5 pairs of both elbow pads as well as knee pads and maybe four or five helmets and they‘ve never been worn. LOL. It’s all brand new… never been used… anyone in the market for some safety gear?) when out runs this creepy grey mouse… Maybe a mouse, maybe a rat… I don’t know, but I’m going to go with mouse. It makes me feel better to call it a mouse, but does it really matter?
I scream, drop the broom, run inside, and jump around on my tippy toes. (I run upstairs and wake Jacob up. I am not going to go through this alone. He may only be 13, but he almost bigger than me and he’s a boy, so…). We poke around and the coast looks clear, but I’m sufficiently wigged out, so I grab my pillow and head inside to sleep. I‘m bummed.
The next day, I patched up the hole my new “house guest” had created for himself and was even more determined to resume my slumber that night. Maybe he didn’t come; maybe I slept through it… I choose to believe the former, but it wasn’t to last. The night after that, he was back; having made a second hole and now I’m officially pissed. I can hear him scurry around, but although I’m completely freaked out by him, he’s not too affected by me. He’s ornery. I go inside to sleep and turn on the air conditioner. Damn. Aren’t mice supposed to be easily intimidated? Timid? Scared? How did I get so lucky as to end up with Mighty Mouse? This little booger is determined.
Game on.
Day after that, I cover hole number two with plywood and I find hole number three. There’s no point in having the screen replaced until I know he’s done tearing it all up. Everything but a little 8 x 8 inch space is covered. I’d like to see him get in now, I thought.
I asked Jacob to go up to the store to get some traps. He called me and said that he had gone to both the BiLo as well as CVS pharmacy and that neither one had anything. What? Come on. They had to have something. Surely, right? He‘s going to go up to the Publix and look there.
“Did you ask anyone?” I inquired.
“No.” he said (teenagers are most excellent conversationalists * insert sarcasm here *).
“Hold on before you go to the other store…” I tell him. The kid would rather go back home and then back out to another store (one further away) than go up to a store employee and ask a question. Part of me wanted to make him go to the other store just to teach him a lesson.
I‘m just around the corner from the BiLo and I really want to sleep on the porch, so I decide to stop and look for myself. Jacob is, after all, only 13 and sometimes he can’t see what’s right in front of his face. Ugh, see, this is why I need a man. I shouldn’t have to be doing all this. I long for the time when I can run inside shrieking, jump up on a chair (however antiquated that cliché may be) and cry out for my man to come rescue me and slay the dragon; or catch the mouse in this particular situation. Straight to the end of aisle 8... All the way down, by the roach spray, on the bottom shelf and there they are; mouse traps. Voila. They are these little plastic clips and it all self contained and you can catch and release, blah… blah… blah… It’s all they have at the store, so I buy 4, some pepperoni and head home. It was right there; don’t know how he missed it; God forbid he should ask for help.
This ends tonight, I think on the drive home.
We set the traps and really, these things are comical. They resemble chip clip more than a mouse trap. Jacob sticks his finger in to see how much it hurts. It’s not very impressive, but it’s all we’ve got… I don’t really want to kill it. I just want to catch it, although I have no idea what I’m going to do with a live mouse once I’ve captured it. Catch and release? To where? My neighbor’s yard?
That night, I again hear the now, unfortunately all too familiar sounds of scurry, scurry, scurry and I open my eyes to see my new friend run across the ledge of the porch and he‘s much bigger than I originally thought. I’m not sure if he’s inside the screen or on the outside of the screen, but it doesn’t really matter, I’m up and inside again; air conditioner on.
The next morning, the traps had all been set off, the bait was gone and there was another hole. Thinking I had a mouse was just that; thinking, albeit wishful thinking. I have a rat and he is determined, but so am I. So, this is where the term “rat bastard” came from… He’s mocking me. Me 0, rat 1, but it’s only half-time. I think my traps startled him, but that’s about it.. (We’re going to run them through the dishwasher and use them as chip clips. Seriously.)
A wise soul once told me "Never bring a knife to a gun fight." Point taken Dave. I’m calling in the big guns. I called Roosevelt, who has been my exterminator for years and years and years. He knows where the key is hidden and knows he’s welcome to help himself to a cold drink if he wants. My kids know him by name. I have his cell phone number.
Roosevelt is at my house within 20 minutes and has set up two traps baited with beef jerkey. He’s very confident that we’ll catch him tonight. He’ll come back tomorrow and dispose of everything for me. I showed him the traps I’d set the night before and he laughed.
“You couldn’t catch a roach with one of those.” he said.
Exterminator’s humor, I guess.
OK, so I guess I was being a little naïve, but hey, I’m a girl. Isn’t that kind of my job?
I had date # 2 with Nick last night and when I got back home, both traps had been set off, only this time, my furry friend did not get away. Not only did he not get away, but neither did his partner in crime. Yes, there were two rats and one was huge. (I took a picture and will send it out upon request. Ewww, gross.)
Immediately, I ran upstairs and woke up Jacob.
“Come see! We got them” I exclaimed with a combination of giddiness and ickiness that you would have to have had witnessed to understand.
“Really? Seriously?” he said. I told him to get up.
We “bagged” the corpses and re-baited the traps with peanut butter as we were not out of pepperoni and don’t have a plentiful stash of beef jerky on hand. I thought there was just one. I wasn’t quite prepared for two, so who knows how many others there are… I wasn’t going to take any chances. Peanut butter would have to do.
I realize that while I may not currently have a man in my life to catch rats and smash bugs, that I do have men in my life that I can count and rely on. I can always count on Jacob to get up out of bed, no matter how deeply he may have been sleeping or how silly he thinks his mom is and I can clearly count on Roosevelt for reinforcements; to catch the rat.
I slept great last night. . The peanut butter remains untouched, but I think I’ll leave it out for a few more nights, just to be sure.
There’s a little part of me that feels bad for the rat/s, but I won’t lose any sleep over it. Sweet dreams.
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