I was enjoying a quiet Saturday at home, when I heard my wife exclaim from the next room: she’d seen a rat running through our apartment. It became immediately apparent who was responsible for the chewed-on paper bag we’d just discovered in the kitchen.
We were about to launch into a frenzy of collective emotion (how could this happen to good people like us? whose turn was it to clean? and where does one buy rat poison anyway?), when we realized that we didn’t actually know where the rat had run to. Our eyes grew large—the library lay undefended! Visions of nibbled first editions danced in our eyes, as we ran to secure and seal off our books. The rest of our house could turn into a rodent paradise, a new Disneyland for Mickey’s San Francisco Bay Area brethren, but at least our books would be safe.
(Our apartment is still full of rat poison trays and humane traps—a contradiction in terms?—but we think we’re close to flushing out our new unwanted houseguest.)
Update: We killed it by putting out poisoned rat pellets for a week. It’s been a while since I’ve been happy seeing an animal die.Posted by Anirvan