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Okay, so I wrote this wonderful elegant exciting account of the third day of comic-con, but then my browser was closed accidently and I lost it all. I’ll write it again tomorrow.
but for now…
I have rats. Yes, nasty little fucking rats. I’ve actually had a rodent problem for over a year but they’ve up until now stayed on the outside of the house. But they’ve been becoming more and more cocky, coming out in the daytime to steal the dog’s food instead of waiting until nighttime. They’ve been living in the space that separates the chiminey from the side of the house, and though they never invaded the house, I found their presence to be increasingly irksome. About two years ago they destroyed my summer garden, eating tomato plants to the ground and decimating my basil and any other thing that grew out of the ground. Since then they’ve flourished on oranges, apples and pears from our fruit trees, and living in the chiminey heights apartment. Lately the little bastards ahve started coming out in the daytime, as I said, and I finally hit the wall. I called up my exterminators, who have been putting down bait stations for about a year and told them they needed to escalate their service. Today Aaron came, a very nice and helpful guy who helped me seal up the chiminey space once and for all with a combination of steel wool and spray foam. It turns out they don’t want to chew through the steel wool, and it keeps them away… or in, it turns out. I knew when he sealed up the passage there was a very strong probability that there would be one or more rats sleeping in their little hotel in the sky, and that they’d be trapped. I had assumed that since the chiminey space was against the wall, that the buggers would have nowhere to go and would just… die there. Well, tonight they’ve proven me wrong. They’ve found a way into the chiminey column itself and down the chiminey chute into the house. I’ve seen five of the guys drop down, bewildered and helpless, looking for a way back up, or a way out, and though I’ve felt bad about it, I whacked three of them over the head, one of them has crawled back up the chiminey (but he’s got to come back down again, because there’s nowhere for him to go), and one… well, I’m not really sure where he’s gone. He’s probably somewhere in the living room right now. I am uncomfortable going to bed knowing that I might wake up to one of these guys running around the house, or worse, many of them, tucked away in the walls, or under the couch for days, just waiting for their opportunity to jump out and scare the crap out of me or my family, or bite the toes of my children. so I sit, waiting to glimpse out of the corner of my eye a brief movement telling me he’s come back down and is ready for some dealing with. These guys have all been tiny and though I have the flu shut on the chiminey, they’ve been able to squeeze through. Though I have to deal with them, at least they aren’t the full-sized mommas I see cruising outside the window, wondering how to get back into their dens, wondering where their babies have gone. I do feel a certain amount of compassion for them, they being very intelligent creatures. However, I can’t have them living in my house and threatening my family with disease. I can’t wait around for them to jump into a trap or find their way out an open door, so I whack them with the fireplace shovel (sorry Serena). Thing is, this last little bastard is getting smart, and keeps popping down but as soon as I come over, he goes back up. So it’s a waiting game. Eventually he’s gonna get hungry and thirsty, or I’m going to get tired, and either he’s going the way of his brethren, or he’ll win and end up somewhere in the house.
It’s 3am. I’m still waiting. There’s no clear path for this guy to get out. I’ve blocked his exits, and he’s going to have to come into the house eventually. I’m tempted to light a fire in the fireplace, but then I’d have to open the flu, and who knows if he’s the last guy there. It’s all grisley business that I wish I didn’t have to participate in. The joys of living near a field. Ugh.

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