ratz

More years ago than I care to admit to, my daughter begged for a pet rat. I loved her (the daughter, not the rat) so allowed it, even though it meant my own cockatiel had to have a new home--apparently an intrinsic and immutable law of Nature is that avians and rodents don't do well in the same tiny apartment. Being somewhat ratphobic, I had misgivings. Those eyes! Those teeth! That TAIL! I soon discovered, though, that Tickle Baby was actually the ideal pet: quiet, affectionate, low maintenance, entertaining, and shockingly fastidious. After the initial wariness, I actually came to enjoy her teeny, tiny company. I mean, really!



Undomesticated rats, like the kind slinking into our building via outside chinks and careless tenants leaving the laundry door open at night, are quite another matter. They're undoubtedly drawn to us by the restaurant next door; I keep finding their disgusting droppings on the laundry steps. Twice in the last six months, different tenants have come home to find one had crawled through the open windows--talk about freak out! The situation has eased a bit since the peach tree and vines in the building front were removed, but now the wily critters are seeking out new and sneakier ways in.

Normally, I don't like to kill things. Spiders, if I don't wish their company, get put outside the window, moths and such are shooed out. Ants don't come around because there's simply nothing for them, and I've blessedly not seen a cockroach in this buiding in 15 years. However, these rats are The Enemy. I want them trapped, I want them zapped, I want them capped. I think I'd shoot 'em if it weren't illegal (did that back in '68 when I lived in Cleveland! It was fun!) Owner won't spring for a pest control service during these tough economic times, especially now as four out of five units on the first floor are vacant (heLLLLOOOOO, might there be a symbiotic connection between those two facts?) so I need to be diligent in defending my territory--creatively.

It's me against THEM.