Turning on the lights in the kids room this morning, I almost stepped on a dead rat. Not a mouse. Not a big mouse. A rat. The exterminators don't believe me. "We don't have rats in Washington." I've never seen a mouse longer than my hand. Anyway, I let out a bloodcurdling shriek and went tearing up to Nancy's apartment. She told me to get one of the guys fixing the roof to get rid of it for me.
I was halfway to the roof before I realized, this is stupid. I've disposed of carcases of voles, mice, lizards, insects, and goodness knows what else living with Cai in California. I can handle a dead rat. In theory. It took several minutes of what can only be described as "girlie noises" and cringing to maneuver the darn rat into a newspaper into a bucket.
I would have thought that after the vole that attached itself to my finger, I would be immune to this.
No comments:
Post a Comment