Sunday, February 19, 2012

Small Game Hunting in Samoa

I was settling in for a quiet night.  Clean sheets, Mr. Kindle.  Relaxing and preparing for a good night’s sleep.  When I saw something move across the room.  Move isn’t the best word.  Scurry is a better description.  I’ve seen that kind of scurrying before so I leaped up and grabbed my weapon.  Well, it was a broom, but it can do a lot of damage if you use it right.

For the next 15 minutes the rat and I ran back and forth across the room.  Me trying to whack it with the broom and him running for his life.  Based on the squeals, I got in a few good blows.  But then he disappeared.  Not up the wall.  Perhaps there’s a hole in a baseboard.  Or he might have crawled up the back of the desk and is hiding there.

I baited my rat trap with soap because I’m not wasting the only cheese I have on a rodent.  Besides, I’m guessing the little bugger wouldn’t know what cheese is.  I put the trap under the desk, about eight feet from my bed.  I’ve got mixed feelings.  I want to catch the brazen sucker but really don’t want to have to deal with a captured rat at 3:00 a.m. 

I was all relaxed and feeling snuggly.  Now my adrenaline is pumping and I want to kill something.  Ironic for a Peace Corps, don’t you think?

I’ll let you know how it goes.  By the way, you know the phrase “scared the crap out me?”  It must be true because every rat I’ve captured has pooped his brains out while waiting in the trap to be released.  Guess they know that since the cats will be waiting, freedom will be very temporary and the end will be bloody.

It is now Monday morning.  Cool and a beautiful sunrise.  But no stinking rat in the cage.  Rat poop on my counter, though.  Near my food.  The rat war is on.

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