Every morning this weekend, coming home from work, I have been greeted by the rustle of azalea bushes, followed by the flight of the rat across the porch. He/she/it then leaps into the japonica and scurries it's big fat ratzy self through the branches.
Yesterday morning there were TWO of them.
I am so ready to go all Erin Dailey on them.
Scuzzy fat disease carrying disgusting filthy nasty rats.
Not even cute little field mice, I could deal with that.
I had thought yesterday of unleashing the feline furies upon them. But. I was sleepy. I had to go back for an extra shift last night. The prospects of two inexperienced hunters and one old psychotic scaredy cat who has in the past only brought live captures home to me didn't seem very promising.
It had the potential to be a drawn out bloody mess that I'd probably have to clean up after. Plus, I'd just sworn to the vet that they never went outside so didn't need any vaccinations other than rabies (I will get them distemper shots at a later date). So I'd be in real trouble if I had to call him to tell him that they both got bitten and/or scratched by marsh rats. Or even worse, that they ate a marsh rat.
This morning I'm standing on the sidewalk, watching the azaleas bushes rustle. The damned things don't even run any more, they are just sitting there, waiting for me to walk up on the porch, probably so they can run up my leg and chew my face off. Or make me scream loud enough to cause heart failure in several of my elderly neighbors.
So, I ask myself the obvious question: What would Erin do?
Answer: Pick up the stray bird feeding bowl, throw it at the bushes while yelling (quietly, of course, it is 7:30 am), "You motherfuckers better get out of my bushes. Or stay there until I get in the house!"
Okay, a little wimpy, but it's hard to work up steam when you have to be quiet about it.
What I need is a ten foot baseball bat. Or a hit-kitty. Yeah, that's an idea. I need to find some lean, mean, rat killing feline machine.
But they must go. It is only a matter of time before they find a way in to the house.
Then there will be a bloody mess.
3 comments:
Here's our problem: our cat, Freakboy, is capable of catching our neighbor's rats, but incapable of either a. killing them; or b. maintaining interest in his new rat-toy long enough to kill them.
This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that he prefers to bring his toys home to show them off to us... and now Janet has set up a way for him to get in and out of the house on his own.
So far that just means that he releases lizards in the house (we find them in odd places, at eye level, staring at us), but it is inevitable that Freakboy will latch onto another rat toy and bring it home for our viewing pleasure.
And that is the day I dread.
Daniel - many years ago, I came home from work, only to be greeted by these words from my then thirteen year old son, "I tried to catch him." In the kitchen, perched on the fridge, a la the Raven, was a wounded crow that my Boo kitty had brought home to share. Bird blood and bird poo decorated my newly painted walls.
But it was better than the decapitated squirrel that Boo had left on the dining room rug.
Aparently the heat is bringing out all the wildlife. I haven't seen anyone thrilled about it, yet.
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