Warning: Rat Explosion Ahead!

I met a rat this week. No, no, I didn’t have a date…it was an actual rat.

There I was Monday morning, lugging my trash to the curb. There he was, strutting like a boss across the floor of my garage, like he owned the place. In 14 years of MY owning the place, happily it’s been a big goose egg in terms of rodentia viewed at Chez Shasta & the Dogs. So in terms of magnitude, it was a Big Deal. It terms of actual dimension, it was approximately the size of a house cat.

I am ashamed to say that I shrieked and dove into my car, revved the engine and burned rubber getting out of there.

All day at work, I tried to figure out how one goes about getting rid of vermin the size of an ottoman. Burning the house down was a sub-optimal solution, per the girls at work.

I called Pest Control. They wanted to come out to the house, charge me some money, set out glue traps and then sell me a few bait traps. “Rats will chew off their legs, you know,” Rachel said from the next desk over. (She is such a pot-stirrer.) Since the last thing I need is pissed-off footless rats resentfully hobbling around on their nubs, I told the pest control guy I’d have to get back to him.

My boss advised me to text his wife: “She’s a genius at getting rid of rats.”

So I did: “Your husband says you know how to get rid of rats."

She texted back: “I’ll take care of you.”

No sign of the rat when I got home that night. Just to be safe, I ordered the Rat Zapper 3000, a device that electrocutes rats with three C batteries. I can’t see how that would do more than tickle them, but it was rated 4 ½ stars so I’ll give it a shot.

All night long, I kept an ear open for Rats in the Walls. Another Rachel stir-of-the-pot.

The next morning my boss showed up with a double-bagged container of what looked like Christmas treats. The note told me how to use the poison, but also warned: “It may make your rat explode…just so you know.”

When I got home that night, I let the dogs into the garage – before dinner, so they’d be motivated – for one last-ditch natural effort to rid my home of the pestilence before I went full-on Rat Annihilator on its ass. “Rats are vicious fighters,” I remember another Rachel warning, so I braced for war. Alfie wagged his tail and sniffed desultorily at my car tire. Daisy squatted and peed on the concrete. Then both of them trotted back into the house to wait by their bowls.

So out came the poison, and given the warning that came with it, I decided one “treat” would be enough to start. I lobbed it like a grenade into the corner of the garage behind some boxes, listened a moment for scurrying feet and a splat, and then went in to feed my hungry dogs.

I won’t lie, the next morning I half-expected blood splatter on the walls of the garage. I peeked at the poison. No sign of a rat enjoying my little holiday treat.

It’s been two days, and all is silent in the garage. No dead rat, no live rat, no unexplained smells, no poison missing…I’m starting to feel like I’ve been gas-lit by a rodent.

So it’s time to clean out the garage to see if I can find evidence. I’m writing this to you guys ahead of time so you know where to send the police if you don’t hear from me in a few hours. I will update if I make it out alive.