Rat

Thursday evening:

I was lying on the couch watching some show on Netflix. I saw him by the time he got almost even with my head...I was startled and almost said something. Then I noticed he wasn’t moving very fast. I see him/them almost every evening scurrying along the baseboard, or making the mad dash to or from the old console TV set and behind this couch. Sometimes I watch while one runs by Tucker’s food bowl, hides behind it for a few seconds then jumps in and grabs some food and hauls ass with the loot.

But this one wasn’t really scurrying...or trying to hide. He was also smaller than what I’m used to. A lot of thoughts...should I shoo him away? Should I grab something and smack him? Should I try to trap him with something? I watched as he took tiny little spurts of running and eventually made it to the base of the little bookcase next to me. Stopped...sniffed. Whirled around for no apparent reason (is he related to me...I do stuff for no apparent reason).

I’m wondering if he is a rat or a mouse...I don’t really care but it nags at a corner of my brain. Maybe he’s a baby, too little to be on his own. Maybe something is wrong with him (rabies!). Maybe he got into some old poison somewhere back there. I picked up one of the novelty back scratchers Melinda got from the Wild Animal Park and poked him. I decided a rodent living in my house is a rat...period. (Stop niggling me already.)

He doesn’t run away when he’s poked. Whirls around again. What to do? Tucker hasn’t noticed...what if he ate him? The wind from the fan moves a wrapper from a pack of crackers out from under the couch. I push the wrapper over toward the rat. Doesn’t move. Tucker’s up from his nap...maybe he won’t notice.

Friday evening:

The fan died. Just simply stopped...like I suppose we all will. Not really surprising since it was very seldom turned off since it came here. Been running almost continually for over a year I guess. I like some white noise and also REALLY need some moving air. Doesn’t matter if it’s fifty degrees in here, I still sweat unless there’s moving air. Crap. I check to see if rat has gone...I thought he might have a few more of the little spurts of running left in him. Guess not. He’s still there, curled up in the little pile of Tucker hair and dust and dirt collected by the base of the bookcase.

Melinda gets out the tiny little fan we got for some reason. It works but it’s...tiny; a 12-incher. Yeah, the party in my head is laughing at “a tiny 12-incher”... I blame Facebook. It’s ok at night, when it’s pretty cool anyway. But quiet...almost TOO quiet. I hear wheezing...is that me? Turn up the volume on Netflix...working our way through all of Law & Order: SVU and Criminal Intent...already up to Jeff Goldblum. What? How did he get in a story about a rat? Oh...poke the rat with the back scratcher...he doesn’t move. Tucker isn’t wise to it. I cover him with the cracker wrapper...his shroud. How many rats get a shroud?

Saturday afternoon:

Thought the landlady might come by for the rent...she usually goes to the house next door and sometimes comes over here on Saturday morning. She never showed, so after the pills and shot we went to sleep. Didn’t sleep long...damn, it’s only noon. Haven’t heard from my friend Jordan in what...two days? He’s having a VERY rough time since his mom died on Sunday. I go check the Facebook peeps and get a few smiles. I check the email and still nothing from Jordan.

The rat is stiff as a board...he’s in full rigor. Odd how that sounds like “vigor” which...well. I’m about to collect rat and dispose of his remains...rats have remains too, right? I thought I heard someone say something. Glance out the kitchen window...crap! Landlady has shown up in afternoon!? Melinda and Tucker are still in bed...no, it aint like that. I had the foresight to have her check already written out yesterday...the landladys’...Melinda has no need for a check from me. I grab it and hurry to the door. I want to go out quietly and shut the door without waking up Tucker so I don’t have to deal with putting him on his string.

Follow the landlady to her truck for the receipt. “What you gonna do about all this grass?”, she asks. I feel the blood pressure...seems like it goes from my belly to my head and rings a bell there, like one of those attractions at the Fair. A dozen responses wrangling furiously around in my attic...wondering which one might get out through a window. “I have no idea....I thought I might get the sling blade and whack some of it down after while.” It was an acceptable response...better than running back inside and collecting the rat and shaking it at her and yelling, “What the hell you gonna do about these rats!?”

Damn, I’m sweating now...blogging. Oh the rat? Yeah, I’ll get it into the trash in a minute. Happy weekend, y’all. I like the third of June better than Cinco de Mayo for two reasons: 1) It’s the date in “Ode to Billy Joe” and 2) the third is check day...but we’re past the rat now, right? *sigh*

TRB