Rats

Oh Blanche. You know we got rats in the cellar?

Last week, a quiet night perusing a selection of really useless web sites was interrupted by a racket downstairs.  I went to investigate and narrowed it down to a section of wall that encloses the pipes that go back up to my tasteful pink bathroom.  Creepy.

Saki, the fearless terror of everyone stupid enough to try and pet him, stood next to me with an air of polite interest, looking in the opposite direction of the brouhaha thumping away right next to us.  He seemed embarrassed for me.  "Hey do you hear something?   I think I'm going to go take a nap," was pretty much his entire contribution.

I set up an appointment with an exterminator, but it didn't take long after he showed up for me to start wondering if living with rodents wasn't maybe preferable.  He was probably normal as anyone you meet through a Google page in San Francisco (which isn't saying much,) but the longer he was here, the more erratic he became.  Sometimes he managed blandly chatty and sometimes he was flat with no affect at all.  It was like he'd read a book on how to make conversation but occasionally forgot parts of what he'd studied.

He insisted on a tour even though I told him I knew the rats were down in the furnace room.  When we finally fetched up there he pointed his little flashlight and said "See?  Droppings.  Vermin." as if I had been vigorously denying the very possibility all along.  I suppose it's not realistic to expect too much from someone whose title is Rat Guy, but still....

Yesterday, one of his minions (and think about Rat Guy Minion being your lot in life) showed up and turned out to be just as peculiar.  Again, we'd be talking along and it was like the frequency would sort of change.  "Hello?  Hello? You with me Rat Guy?"  Do you think they're drinking the stuff they're supposed to be spraying around?

He checked the traps and seemed crushed when they turned up empty.  I felt bad for him, as if I had personally let him down.  My rats were not cooperating.  I guess I should have stuck with him, but I snuck off to see if the internet had improved (it hadn't) and when I looked out the window he was up in the yard, spritzing poison around.  I certainly had not requested that ("You know what I would like?  Random toxins in my garden.  Yeah, that's the ticket.") but he seemed to feel better afterwards so I suppose I shouldn't be churlish.

He assured me he'd be back next week.  I hate to think I appear that needy.