Never once did I think it was a good idea to have a rat helping out in the kitchen. As a matter of fact, even after I saw "Ratatouille", I still wasn't convinced. Fortunately, I never had to worry about that --until recently. I was taking Angel to park one weekend last month when she started going nuts in the garage. She was sniffing and scratching around boxes and getting more and more agitated. I thought she may have found a gecko -- you know those cute green lizards that sell insurance. I certainly wouldn't mind giving shelter to that little Australian-accented bugger, so I called the dog off, got into the car and didn't give it a thought...until I was in bed that night. What could have set the dog off? What if it wasn't a little lizard? So, the next night, I opened both garage doors and let Angel at it. I even gave her an assist -- at one point moving a box when she couldn't get behind it. That's when I saw it. Was it a mouse? At first, I thought it was, because it didn't have big fangs, and it had a little mousey face. But it wasn't really tiny. I figured it might weigh like 8 oz to a pound. And it moved pretty quickly. As much as I was in denial, I knew -- it was a rat! And Angel was determined to catch it. I immediately transformed into the dog's coach, "Atta girl, baby. Get it! Where is it? Good girl!" The only thing I didn't do was drape a towel around her shoulders and wipe her muzzle.
Then, the horrid rodent started running in the open as if to escape. That was a good thing, right? The garage doors were open and there was nothing between it and the great outdoors. Except at that moment I lost it and screamed like a little girl. Startled, the rat ran back in. Damn! Okay, so I changed my strategy, and instead of backing Angel up, I positioned myself near the opposite wall and let the dog do her thing. Sure enough, the rat made another attempt. EEEEEKKKKK! I quickly slapped my hand over my mouth, but it was too little, too late. Back into his hiding place he ran. Shit.
The next thing I saw was a little head peeping out from behind a box on a shelf. Freakin' thing realized the floor wasn't the place to be anymore and headed for higher ground. "Angel, Angel, over there, it's over there." Unfortunately, Angel didn't look at me, nod and follow the direction where I pointed. She just looked at me and moved in a different direction. It was left to me to play a little Whack-a-Mole. I grabbed a plunger and threw it at the rat, but of course it was too fast. A little while later, it peeked out from behind a paint can. I grabbed a baseball glove, and again, I missed.
By now, the dog and I were exhausted. It was like 100 degrees in the garage, and even though I made sure to walk Angel over to the water spigot a few times to give her a long drink, we were both feeling dehydrated and depleted. I took her for a short walk to calm her down, and closed everything up. My next move was calling the exterminator.
The rat is gone. I think it left when I took the dog for a walk. If the rat poison did its job, one of us - me or Angel - would have smelled something dead in the garage. But, since there's no horrible smell and Angel hasn't become agitated, I think it took a powder when it had the chance.
I could be wrong. I haven't moved a single thing in the garage, and I won't go in there without Angel at my side, just in case. I only recently moved my car back in, because I had nightmares about driving into work and seeing a rat crawling around the floorboard. I don't think I'd survive something like that.
Those Disney people are sick f*ckers.
Then, the horrid rodent started running in the open as if to escape. That was a good thing, right? The garage doors were open and there was nothing between it and the great outdoors. Except at that moment I lost it and screamed like a little girl. Startled, the rat ran back in. Damn! Okay, so I changed my strategy, and instead of backing Angel up, I positioned myself near the opposite wall and let the dog do her thing. Sure enough, the rat made another attempt. EEEEEKKKKK! I quickly slapped my hand over my mouth, but it was too little, too late. Back into his hiding place he ran. Shit.
The next thing I saw was a little head peeping out from behind a box on a shelf. Freakin' thing realized the floor wasn't the place to be anymore and headed for higher ground. "Angel, Angel, over there, it's over there." Unfortunately, Angel didn't look at me, nod and follow the direction where I pointed. She just looked at me and moved in a different direction. It was left to me to play a little Whack-a-Mole. I grabbed a plunger and threw it at the rat, but of course it was too fast. A little while later, it peeked out from behind a paint can. I grabbed a baseball glove, and again, I missed.
By now, the dog and I were exhausted. It was like 100 degrees in the garage, and even though I made sure to walk Angel over to the water spigot a few times to give her a long drink, we were both feeling dehydrated and depleted. I took her for a short walk to calm her down, and closed everything up. My next move was calling the exterminator.
The rat is gone. I think it left when I took the dog for a walk. If the rat poison did its job, one of us - me or Angel - would have smelled something dead in the garage. But, since there's no horrible smell and Angel hasn't become agitated, I think it took a powder when it had the chance.
I could be wrong. I haven't moved a single thing in the garage, and I won't go in there without Angel at my side, just in case. I only recently moved my car back in, because I had nightmares about driving into work and seeing a rat crawling around the floorboard. I don't think I'd survive something like that.
Those Disney people are sick f*ckers.
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