We have rats.
I would have thought my dog could have helped with this problem by scaring them off the premises, but he didn’t even know we had rats. They’d been living with us comfortably for some time when I heard them in the kitchen and went to investigate. Rocky, following me, suddenly started barking excitedly, as if he had discovered them. He was intensely interested for about five minutes before he resumed his nap on the couch.
We found a whole stash of dog food hidden behind our washing machine. Apparently the little buggers had been pilfering Rocky’s food. I told Rocky, in hopes that the crime would fire him up, but he declared himself more than happy to share, presumably because, in his world, the dog food appears out of thin air. He’s content to cohabitate with the rats, especially since he’s always wanted us to get another pet.
Since our dog is useless, we’ve tried traps. Ace Hardware knows my husband by name now, and an employee immediately leads him to the rat trap aisle when he comes in. I didn’t want to kill the rats, so my husband, humoring me, bought humane rat traps. They are about as effective as my dog. We awake most mornings to discover that the peanut butter is licked clean off the trap with no rat inside, so basically the traps are a means to feed the little critters. Clearly they are related to the rats of Nimh and possess more intelligence than the designers of the traps. We did catch one rat—a baby—presumably because it was the only one young and stupid enough to get caught inside the trap.
The rats aren’t bad houseguests, as I’ve only seen them a couple of times. Mostly they try to stay out of our way so as not to inconvenience us. Once we returned home to see one chilling by our TV. He was disappointed to see we don’t get cable. I don’t think anyone had told him about Netflix and hulu. I suspect the rat society is a bit Amish.
Disney taught me to expect big things from vermin. I even named our rat Tooey, short for Ratatouille, to demonstrate my great expectations. Unlike the Pixar film, however, we never return home to find that Tooey’s whipped up a soufflé or crème brulee. He never sews me a dress so that I can marry a prince and come into a small fortune, like in Cinderella. He doesn’t sing delightful musical numbers or show any inclination for a career in Hollywood. At the very least I expected he’d open a multimillion dollar theme park, but he appears to have about as much ambition as my dog.
I spotted Tooey a second time when I was outside working in our yard. He weaved his way in between my house and two of my neighbors’ properties with such authority that I concluded he fancied himself the owner of a multi-property estate. I guess he has no reason to open a theme park, then, as he appears to own more property than I do.
I give up. Like Rocky, now when I hear Tooey, I don’t get up from my nap on the couch. In fact, since it appears he’s going to be a permanent pet, I plan to get him his shots and heart worm pills—and maybe a Christmas present—possibly a subscription to Netflix?
I’m just kidding. The rats are actually gone now. (Could I have written this article if they weren’t?) We patched some holes in our dry wall, so they no longer have a point of entry. I don’t know where Tooey is now, and it’s been raining so much lately, I hope he’s found another place to stay. Maybe I should put a little dog food and a DVD outside for him, just to make sure he’s okay—but just in case, I think I’ll leave it in front of my neighbor’s house.
I would have thought my dog could have helped with this problem by scaring them off the premises, but he didn’t even know we had rats. They’d been living with us comfortably for some time when I heard them in the kitchen and went to investigate. Rocky, following me, suddenly started barking excitedly, as if he had discovered them. He was intensely interested for about five minutes before he resumed his nap on the couch.
We found a whole stash of dog food hidden behind our washing machine. Apparently the little buggers had been pilfering Rocky’s food. I told Rocky, in hopes that the crime would fire him up, but he declared himself more than happy to share, presumably because, in his world, the dog food appears out of thin air. He’s content to cohabitate with the rats, especially since he’s always wanted us to get another pet.
Since our dog is useless, we’ve tried traps. Ace Hardware knows my husband by name now, and an employee immediately leads him to the rat trap aisle when he comes in. I didn’t want to kill the rats, so my husband, humoring me, bought humane rat traps. They are about as effective as my dog. We awake most mornings to discover that the peanut butter is licked clean off the trap with no rat inside, so basically the traps are a means to feed the little critters. Clearly they are related to the rats of Nimh and possess more intelligence than the designers of the traps. We did catch one rat—a baby—presumably because it was the only one young and stupid enough to get caught inside the trap.
The rats aren’t bad houseguests, as I’ve only seen them a couple of times. Mostly they try to stay out of our way so as not to inconvenience us. Once we returned home to see one chilling by our TV. He was disappointed to see we don’t get cable. I don’t think anyone had told him about Netflix and hulu. I suspect the rat society is a bit Amish.
Disney taught me to expect big things from vermin. I even named our rat Tooey, short for Ratatouille, to demonstrate my great expectations. Unlike the Pixar film, however, we never return home to find that Tooey’s whipped up a soufflé or crème brulee. He never sews me a dress so that I can marry a prince and come into a small fortune, like in Cinderella. He doesn’t sing delightful musical numbers or show any inclination for a career in Hollywood. At the very least I expected he’d open a multimillion dollar theme park, but he appears to have about as much ambition as my dog.
I spotted Tooey a second time when I was outside working in our yard. He weaved his way in between my house and two of my neighbors’ properties with such authority that I concluded he fancied himself the owner of a multi-property estate. I guess he has no reason to open a theme park, then, as he appears to own more property than I do.
I give up. Like Rocky, now when I hear Tooey, I don’t get up from my nap on the couch. In fact, since it appears he’s going to be a permanent pet, I plan to get him his shots and heart worm pills—and maybe a Christmas present—possibly a subscription to Netflix?
I’m just kidding. The rats are actually gone now. (Could I have written this article if they weren’t?) We patched some holes in our dry wall, so they no longer have a point of entry. I don’t know where Tooey is now, and it’s been raining so much lately, I hope he’s found another place to stay. Maybe I should put a little dog food and a DVD outside for him, just to make sure he’s okay—but just in case, I think I’ll leave it in front of my neighbor’s house.
