The Second Rat

I can hardly believe my eyes. There's a second rat.

I've gotten to Michael's to feed and let the dogs out but I'm nowhere over the trauma of the first rat so I enter the kitchen cautiously. I'm reaching for the latch to open the gate that divides the room - the back door is on the other side - when I see it, lying squarely in the middle of the floor and not moving. The dogs see it at the same time and chaos erupts as they try to storm the gate. It's sudden and deafening and the rat doesn't react but I learned a little something from the first one and I suspect it's a ruse. I drag each of the dogs out, kicking and screaming, and reach for my trusty broom. It only takes one tentative prod and the creature comes to life, jumping into the air, whirling around, and slithering into a corner where Michael keeps the kennels and a veritable forest of half dead plants. My heart is once again hammering in my chest as I back away but I keep a death grip on the broom. Then I realize that the dogfood is on the rat's side of the gate.

As slowly and as quietly as I can, I open the gate, keeping my eyes fixed on the plants and managing to retrieve four containers of Ceasar's. I feed the dogs outside, re-fill and move their water bowls to the office and close the kitchen door. Despite my earlier vow never to use poison again, I consider it but dismiss the idea at once and decide to leave things as they are. The thing is likely half poisoned already, I tell myself, maybe it will die on its own.

To my surprise and shock, that seems to be exactly what happens. When I go back at midnight, the rat has crawled into one of the kennels and is lying there motionless but whether it's asleep or dead, I can't tell. I take careful note of its precise position then use the broom to close and lock the cage door. It still doesn't stir and the next morning, it appears to be exactly where it was. Fully prepared to run at the first sign of life no matter how feeble, I prod it with the broom, gently at first then more roughly, until I'm convinced that it's dead. In the words of the Munchkin coroner, not merely dead but most sincerely dead.

Thinking that Michael will be less than thrilled to come home to a dead rat in the dog kennel,

I gather my courage, fight off the nausea and sweep it into the dustpan, dump it in the trash, and take the trash to the outside barrel.

I refuse to allow myself to think about the possibility of a third rat.