My niece just moved into a modular home on a like in central Florida. She is renovating this older home and has been e-mailing me for advice for getting rid of rats. This one made me laugh.
Someday, Uncle Steve, I hope we will stop writing about rodents.
But until that time, I must tell you that in the rat trap under the sink appeared a mouse whose booty was snapped under the bar.
I saw its little eyes before I shut the cabinet door and fretted: what do I do with it, what do I do with it.
My sister says bag and whack a rat
My neighbor asked why I had not just tossed the last mouse into the lake.
I could generate no courage for either of those — for one thing, the lake now has about one inch of water in it, and the rat would have just plopped into the water and run back into my house.
So I told myself to BE A MAN, as I put on my leather gardening gloves and moved the Windex and Easy-Off so I could see whole thing.
Well, it wasn’t a mouse. The bar was in the middle of a rat. A big long booty followed, and then a tail that stretched to Tallahassee.
So I pinched the tail and tried to dangle rat and trap into a big Ziplock, but it kept holding its head out with its little hands so I had to keep bobbing it, like it was a tea bag.
But in it finally went, and I sealed it tight so the yellow and blue made green, put it in a cardboard box, and into the bottom of my freezer. Yeuch.
This is the THIRD critter that has been in the Frigidaire, making it now an official Pet Semetary or however Stephen King spelled it.
Now I’m going to take a shower.