Wednesday, October 6, 2010

I suddenly understand where Tom was coming from

I'm not afraid of spiders or bugs. I've made friends and roommates based solely on my ability to kill a creepy crawling thing using the closest object and without panic. Snakes don't really bother me either. Me'h. It's just nature. I grew up in the country.

For some reason, however, I'm really not cool with the whole rodent genre. Specifically mice and rats. I don't care about the little field mouse. I like to think it's scampering off to some try out for an animated movie. Rats. Ugh. The government can launch an awareness campaign that "Rats aren't bad" complete with commercials and funny movie and bus signs and I'd still be convinced their just little bundles of evil scurrying about. Dirty, rotten, disgusting, yuck.

On Monday morning, I tossed a bruised up banana into my trash can. Of course, the trash was towards the top and I did make a mental note to take out the trash once it stopped raining. I came home later that day and opened up the cabinet to throw out a paper towel or something. Imagine my horror to find a hole eaten out of the discarded banana. There were little teeth marks! It looked like a person with really stupid teeth took a bite out it! EWWWWW! And because they're just awful awful things, around the trash can was a trail of droppings. Rats are like Pandas but instead of Eats, Shoots and Leaves-ing- they Eat, Crap and Infest. (And major brownie points to anyone who gets the Panda and Eats Shoots and Leaves reference. Sneaky grammar book shout out!)

I did what any self respecting28 year-old women faced with something creepy and gross would do. I called my mom. Moooom! There is a mouse in my apartment! That night, I avoided doing the dishes or making coffee or any task that would take me near the kitchen.

I bought D-Con to poison the sucker. Yes. I'm setting animal traps and being very un-pc and so very anti-PETA. Rats multiply by the hundreds. There is no shortage of them. Sorry, I'm not sorry. "Ha!" I thought. "I have outsmarted the rat." I shall now avoid cooking for lack of skill, knowledge or ambition instead of fear of Ebola-infested rodent hiding in my trash can. I cleaned up the rat poop and gagged. I've cleaned toilets at a restaurant that served colon-cleansing like pasta sauce and not batted an eye. Rat poop, puke. Either way, it'll eat the D-Con, and then go drown and I shall prevail.

It's back though. I checked the cabinet today and there they were. Little rat feces just taunting me. In the words of my favorite television character ever, "Son of a bitch!"

I quickly made my nightly smoothie and retreated to my living room.

And here I sit. On my couch, battling a fear of going back to the room where rats have tread. I'm hungry for a snack but don't want to go into the kitchen. I'm afraid of some rodent that may or may not have at some point today ran through my apartment! I have a sink full of two-day old dirty dishes that I have no idea how they're going to get done until I know it's gone.

I understand where Tom in Tom and Jerry was coming from. I'm about to place an order with Acme.

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