I told you about The First One. It's violent death amoung the coffee grinds. My absolute lack of remorse. My horror at becoming one of those homes...infested.
Let me begin my saying this: Rats are evil incarnate. They are the cold fingers on the back of my neck. They are the shiver of disgust when I see that thick, naked tail, slipping through the hole beneath my sink. I do not accept them as part of God's plan and I believe in the complete annihilation of the entire demonic race.
Dear Animal Rights Activists, I dare you to challenge me!
There is no sweetness in ink black eyes, nor beauty in pointed noses and squirrelly talons. No grace in matted fur nor manners in garbage can theft. They are ugly and bold and absolutely expendable.
And we have knowingly murdered twelve since that first day. Twelve rodents who have met timely ends beneath the kitchen sink. Spines crushed. Heads crushed. Yellow teeth frozen in a forever grin of 'at least I got to taste your pot roast, lady!'
When our phones stopped working we were sure they had chewed through the wires. Worse was to discover that they had peed all over the box and shorted it out. God bless the poor Eastlink man who had to journey into our dungeon and fix it. I'm sure he went home and showered until he was raw.
Twenty dollars worth of poison. Scott manned up and took it down himself (and I'm sure it was all he could do to keep from sobbing) and spread all of it through the crawl space before terror could force him back into the light.
That was five days ago. I haven't heard a rustle for twenty-four hours.
Now, I don't want to count my chickens before they hatch but I kind of feel like cock-a-doodle-do-ing. We're winning this war. Reclaiming our home. Sending those beasts straight back to where they came from - birthed in the womb of hell.
And yes, I'll dance on their graves. To Motorhead. And I'll love it.
Take this as a lesson. Never pee on my phone box!
More rat stories?