I hate the little rat bastard.
We had a rat last year too. We set a trap up in the attic about the time the kitchen was being remodelled. I was convinced that the remodel scared him off, but that’s not what happened at all. J. headed up there this morning to see if there were any signs of the little bugger that’s been waking us up in the dewy hours of the morning. He returned carrying the old rat trap – complete with dessicated rat.
You would think that a sprung trap with a dried out rat carcass in it would be enough disincentive to any prospective rat tenant, but apparently not. Maybe it’s because we forgot to hang the “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here” sign over the dusty remains of the last occupant. Or maybe rats are just plain fearless. J. says that because the last victim was so very dehydrated, he didn’t even resemble rat to the latest resident. He might be right. Because while the thing he had in his hand wasn’t exactly, well, attractive, it wasn’t nearly as disgusting as it sounds.
We first laid our eyes on the current inhabitant a little over a week ago. We heard something out on the roof around 1am. J. looked out the window to find himself eye to eye with Master Rodent. We haven’t seen him again since then, but oh ho ho have we heard him.
Today we went to the hardware store to pick up new traps. Everyone in the store had something to say. “Fill up the entry point with wire. Not chicken wire, they’ll chew right through that, get that hardware cloth stuff, you know, with the little squares.” “Get rid of any ivy you have in your yard. They love that. The city has been here pulling the ivy out of the park, the rats are so bad this year. They’ve got names, they’re bold as daylight.” “Cheese and peanut butter. Norway rats like peanut butter.” And so on.
I hate rat traps just about as much as I hate our four legged lodger. I don’t even like to handle them when their still in the package and the trap bar is pinned in the “safe” postion. J. sprung one on while setting them up and I just about went through the ceiling. Okay, I’m a little edgy because I’m so very tired. Still, traps are a bit more practical than getting an owl or a snake.
Everything I’ve read says the only thing to do when you’ve got rats is to set traps. If you poison them, they might decide to die in your walls and then, oy, the smell. Though for some reason we did not suffer from the smell of the previous victim. J. says it’s because the trap was set in a well ventilated area. You can set live traps and relocate your quarry, but good god, what are you going to do with a box of Norway rat? If you call the city and say, “Hiya, can you come take my rat away?” will they laugh? What about the SPCA? It’s not like they are going to put them up for adoption on their web site, is it?
The new traps are up in the attic now, baited with Jarlsberg and almond butter because we’re epicures here. No American cheese and Jif for our roof dweller. I hope we get the diminutive squatter. Honest to god, I wouldn’t care if he’d pay rent or just shut the hell up. But all he does is chew my rafters and keep me awake at night and what do I get for his trouble? Sleepless nights.
We’re going to get the little rat bastard. Animal lover that I am, I will sleep soundly at night once he’s gone.