The Throne, the Oval Office, the Porcelain Potty. Known by many names, the Toilet. For many people it’s a place of refuge. Somewhere to hide from your kids, read a good magazine, and enjoy regular bowel movements. It’s always been a place for me to do what I need to do and not be bothered. It’s a safe place. Somewhere I knew I wouldn’t be disturbed. Alas, how the times change. It was one of those days, those days when you’re walking on air, nothing can get you down! I had just gotten a promotion at work, I had gotten a free taco for lunch, and the girl of my dreams had just accepted my invitation to go get some dinner later. I was planning on stopping at home to freshen up before heading out to go pick her up.
I waltzed into the bathroom with thoughts of the first date with my dream girl floating through my head. I kicked off my shoes and began to shimmy out of my khaki trousers. I was just about to sit down when I heard the most terrifying noise. *SKREECH SKREECH* I jumped up alarmed, and whirled around to find my worst fears. For sitting in my pristine toilet bowl was none other than a large, black, hairy rat! I screamed and ran out of the bathroom. I wasn’t going to be needing it anymore (if you know what I mean). I bee- lined it to my phone and punched in the number for the pest control company I had relied on in the past.
My heroes in shining overalls were there within the hour to take care of my misfortune. They explained to me that the rat had probably swam up my sewer system and right into my toilet bowl. They assured me that they would take care of the rat and that they’d be here in a jiffy if I ever found one again. It took me quite a while to come to terms with what had happened. I had nightmares for weeks on end about that FILTHY rat. Lucky for me, the worst was over. I Hoped…
Tag Archives: rats in house
Rats In House
Oh, no, this will not do, we will have no more rats in the house, uh uh, no way. I don’t know how the dirty damn things got in my house, or why they chose us. I run a clean home. We don’t live in a museum or anything, that’s not what I’m saying. We live in a cute little clean home, though, and I refuse to let rats in the house destroy it.
But, we are losing this battle, and I am ready to drop kick the little suckers into next year if I have to.
I first noticed we might have a rat in the house when I went through the Christmas decorations that I keep in the downstairs office. There were holes chewed right through the cardboard boxes, and little rat turds sprinkled in the tinsel and garlands. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d up and had babies right there in and amongst the nativity scenes and tree ornaments. At least there wasn’t anything dead in there, but just knowing they had made free with my decorations was enough to give me the shivers.
I made everyone tear through the house, looking for little rat holes or rat droppings. My niece found half an eaten potato in the pantry. Oh, no, we not only have rats in the house but they’re in the kitchen, too?! It was on, I was at war.
We put out traps, sealed up all the food, cleaned up all the rat turds. It obviously wasn’t enough. The rats in the house chewed through the water line to the refrigerator next. Oh, yes, they did, chewed enough holes in it that water soaked up underneath the floor boards and ran down the wall into a closet downstairs. Water damage on two floors, all because some furry little rodent can’t keep clear of my house and keep its teeth off pipes.
We caught two rats with the kind of rat traps you get at the hardware store, and I thought, phew, we don’t have anymore rats in the house. But, it turns out I was wrong, because the next thing you know, we found out that a rat had made its way into a guest bedroom, chewed a hole into the closet where we keep all our extra winter clothes, and made a rat nest and had babies inside a spare skiing jacket. It chewed its way clean through the jacket lining and used the inside fluff to make a nest for disgusting rat babies.
This will not do. I cannot have rats in my house. We are a clean family and I expect our home to be free of rats, so you gotta send someone out here ASAP to trap the rats, kill the rats, whatever you gotta do to get them out of my house.
Dead Rat
A dead rat was certainly not something I expected early in the morning as I stumbled through the house as quietly as I could to get to the gym and back before the kids woke up.
I had started a new exercise regime, hitting the gym or running on the nearby park trails. With small children, a regular exercise routine was challenging, to say the least. I’d tried popping in an exercise DVD or two, but the little ones thought it was a game. They’d sit on my stomach as I tried to do sit-ups, run between my legs when I tried yoga, and I won’t even go into the trauma of kick-boxing.
(Artwork by Sharon Davis. Contact us for her contact info.)
Desperate, I was determined to get back in shape, whatever it took. So, I went to bed pretty early each night, much to my husband’s chagrin, and woke up in the wee hours of the morning. I snuck around the house, getting running shoes on, locating my MP3 player and filling my water bottle before tiptoeing out the front door and down the driveway. For over three weeks, my new routine was working. My husband was home, asleep but home, in case the children woke up early, but usually I was back just as everyone was waking up. I’d then make breakfast, shower, and be ready for the day. I was overjoyed and starting to see some success on the scale.
And then, the day of the dead rat. I kept the house dark as I got ready to go running, because I knew every inch, every step of my home. I skillfully remembered where toys had been carelessly left the night before and kept myself from loudly kicking toy cars and trains across the floor. I would usually remember the last place the children were playing with my MP3 player, and could find it even in the darkness. But, when my shoe-clad foot stepped on something unusual in the kitchen, I couldn’t figure out what it was. It had some give, but there was a soft crack as my full body weight bore down on it. I took two steps to the pantry, figuring I’d turn the pantry light on and partially close the door so I could determine what I’d stepped on without waking anyone up.
I turned on the light, stepped out of the pantry and closed the door half-way. I looked down at the floor, and my mind couldn’t process what I was seeing. Was this a child’s doll? Some leftover food that had fallen on the floor during one of my husband’s late-night fridge raid? In the partial shadows, I could see something glistening around it, but just couldn’t quite figure out the mysterious shape and substance.
Stepping closer, I stooped down and got really close. My hand automatically reached out to scoop it up, but luckily my brain stopped my hand before contact was made. “Dead Rat!” my brain screamed, and I jerked back. My daily efforts of maintaining complete silence in the early morning hours paid off, and I’m proud to say I didn’t even shout out. Instead, I yanked off my shoes, scooted back across the floor and sat there until my hands stopped shaking. My mind raced, and I decided I would take care of calling in a professional rat exterminator, because where there’s one rat, there’s probably more. I also decided to let my husband sleep in a little before making him clean up the mess.