I have long been aware that Prince Charming isn't coming to my house anytime soon.
But imagine my horror when I glanced up at the porch light this afternoon to see what Lottie was hollering about. I am so naive, I thought I'd see one of her idiot lizards.
It was definitely not Prince Charming.
It was not a lizard.
It was a mouse.
Lottie had apparently chased it up the wall onto the light fixture, and from there it tried (and failed, thank my stars) to squeeze into my attic. Nightmare alert: mice can climb stucco walls, did you know that? Lillie and I brought the cat inside and
jumped up and down and screamed tried to decide what to do. I posted its creepy crawly picture on Facebook and asked the team for their best advice.
Among the comments was this unpleasant news. My furry intruder is not a mouse.
It is a rat.
A baby rat.
Baby rats most definitely have parents, siblings and cousins.
Google agreed that I probably have entire families of rats running around my property. There is a lot of that nasty ivy nearby, and rats LOVE ivy. Google says it is only a matter of time before I have rats in my walls and attic. I recently noticed what I thought were mole hills around my house but are, apparently, rat burrows. Maybe I'll stuff snail bait down the busiest-looking holes--I recall, way back when I lived in an old house in San Jose, whenever I scattered Snarol there would always be a few dead roof rats lying around in a day or so. I'll go to OSH and figure out which kind of actual rat poison seems the safest for every non-rat creature in the vicinity.
I would love to imagine that this little rodent lives alone and has no friends or relations.
Well, I wasn't born last night.
Looks like there's some pest control on my agenda.
Rats are sort of the herpes of home-ownership.
You might control them; you might not see a rat for years; but they're never really gone forever.
Have you ever had rats?