A Lengthy Tail

[msconduct]

Those of us in New Zealand have found it a bit damp underfoot over the past few days. Probably not all that surprising, then, that late Sunday night I found one of the cats running excitedly up and down and peering under the sofa. It seemed that someone of the rodent persuasion had decided it was time to get out of the rain.

Now, I'm a little bit sensitive about rats. In fact, after the way I freaked out when my ex-husband reported two of them leaping up when he took the lid off the compost bin, my friends tend to play it safe and refer to them only as rrrs in my presence. My housemate, on the other hand, is fearless on the rodent front, but she was getting up at 5 a.m. to catch a plane to Wellington, so hauling her out of bed for a spot of rat-wrangling didn't seem entirely fair.

So I made the rational adult decision and went to bed in the hope that the problem would magically disappear in the night. It didn't even seem that improbable, considering that I was leaving it in the care of two deadly predators. Nature red in tooth and claw was bound to take its course, hopefully removing all evidence in the process.

But the next morning, it was unfortunately clear that my visitor remained, as it were, in da house. One deadly predator, the one that actually knows how to kill things, was totally uninterested, and other thought it was the best toy she'd ever had. Thus far, I'd kept my sanity by telling myself it was just a mouse. Then I caught a glimpse of a tail as it shot into the spare bedroom with a cat in hot pursuit, and it was a long one. I couldn't deny it any more. I had a rrr on my hands.

My first thought was to move immediately to Tauranga. But that would have been sort of difficult to explain, so instead I decided I had to tackle the problem head on. The rrr might have burning yellow eyes, an evil snarl and the ability to jump three metres in the air from a standing start (probably), but I had a bigger cerebellum and opposable thumbs. So I scooped the cat out, slammed the door shut and pushed phone books up against it. (Not because I thought the rrr could break the door down - even I'm not that irrational -but because I read somewhere they can squeeze through spaces the size of a pencil or something equally terrifying, and by the way the wind howls under my doors I knew a rrr would have no bother sliding out, jumping onto my head and tangling itself in my hair. Or is that bats?) Then I bravely whisked out one phone book and shoved a saucer of bait under the door. Ha! One to me! I may not be able to have hundreds of babies in a year, but I do know something that green can't be good for you.

Then there were these... noises. Jumping noises. Attempts to break down the door noises. And then it all went quiet.

I was pretty sure by this time I had a rat who had ceased to be. But frankly, a dead rat's not a lot more appetising than a live one. What to do, what to do?

There are times when you call upon your inner warrior goddess, face your fears and emerge in shining triumph. And there are others when you ring Hire-A-Hubby. My purchased hubby swiftly removed the offending corpse and even swept up the bait for me. And now I can breathe again.

You know, this might be one of the few times I've missed my ex-husband. While singularly useless at every aspect of Kiwi blokehood except backing a trailer, he was undoubtedly good at dealing with rats. After all, they had a natural affinity.

Comments

[badasstronaut.livejournal.com]

You should send that post to Hire-a-Hubby - they might be able to use it in their advertising!

[msconduct.livejournal.com]

I love Hire-A-Hubby. They do the things real ones moan about and you only have to pay them money. So much less wearing than nagging, threats and emotional blackmail.

After all, they had a natural affinity.

[strawfellow.livejournal.com]

ha ha