Monday started off as a nice day. A bit busy at work, but it's to be expected, and then some really good Chinese food for dinner and back to katieledge
's apartment to rest up, do some writing, and relax. She's fresh out of her first day at a new job, really excited, and all is well.
Until I see it.
Now, New York City is what it is. A big, big, BIG city. Which comes with its inevitable set of problems, one of which is vermin. Everyone in New York has seen cockroaches. They come with the territory. They live in your apartments. They bogart your leftovers. They don't pay rent. They're assholes.
However, in addition to las cucarachas, New York City has rats. Well, many places have rats. But NYC rats are actually capable of buying a Metrocard and riding the subway, they're that big. They can climb building walls like Peter Parker. They spread disease like that kid in third grade who got the chicken pox first and then gave it to everyone else in class. They are not cute like those white lab rats you can keep as a pet. Some of them even habla español.
The difference between a rat and a cockroach is the ease with which one may terminate said creature. It's easy to stomp a roach. Killing a rat with your bare hands is much more challenging.
So, there we were. And out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of something moving. Lo and behold- rat. In the apartment. Just skulking around, doing its rat thing.
I know that somehow I have to get rid of it.
I haven't watched Sigourney Weaver kick ass in "Aliens" 139 times for nothing, though. I deck myself out in sneakers, heavy pants, and thick winter gloves, grab a shoebox, and return to the living room. katieledge
wields a broom menacingly. My plan was to trap the rat in the shoebox and escort it outside. But the rat was wise, and had moved out of the living room. It took several minutes to relocate the intruder, sitting in the kitchen on a dustpan next to the boxy rat trap thing the exterminator had set up two weeks before. I contemplate how to get the shoebox around the rat, perhaps at the expense of the dustpan. But the rat saves us the trouble and moves into the trap. I consider my options. katieledge
saves me the trouble of thought and says "Throw it out. The whole thing. Out the window."
I look out the window. Alleyway far below. Four stories below, to be precise. The rat is still chittering around in the trap.
I grab the trap. The rat sticks its head out and looks up. "Hey, what're you up to?" it asks with a perfect Brooklyn accent.
Next time, I might not have a rat trap so conveniently at hand. Must learn to counter the evil power of Rat-Fu. But for now, I have triumphed over the evil forces of nature. And life returns to normal.