“What on earth was that?” I asked out loud as I sat upright in our loft bed, almost hitting my head on the ceiling.
We had our newborn baby daughter in the crib below us, and I knew that although she made all kinds of little infant sounds, she didn’t make one that sounded like a high pitched squeak!
Hubby, Rick, had heard it too and having worked on farm settings and familiar with all kinds of critters, he knew instantly that there were rats in our small apartment!
Having moved into tiny, seminary housing in downtown Dallas, it wasn’t uncommon to find ourselves beseiged by cockroaches but this rat visitation was a whole new level of horror as far as I was concerned.
Hadn’t I read that they would gnaw on babies toes, and run across people’s beds as well as carry all kinds of diseases?
Count me out, I am taking my baby and we are going to a hotel!
Knowing he would probably never get his wife back to the apartment again, Rick announced that he would take care of it right then and there.
I grabbed the baby and sheltered high up on our loft bed as the battle between Rick and the rats began.
First of all, hearing Rick banging about, the rats went scurrying under the kitchen stove where they decided it was safe to hunker down for the night.
Rick, determined that there were two of them, grabbed my butcher knife, turned the oven on high and prepared to “smoke” them out.
Smoke indeed! It didn’t take long before I began to smell singed hair and hear more of the squeaking sounds, although they were albeit a bit more frantic.
The battle of the rats was in full swing!
The first rat made a run for safety, away from the heat and was immediately stabbed.
The second one, waited a bit longer, weighing out his options; “let’s see…shall I burn at the stake or die by the sword?”
Risk taker that he was, he didn’t learn from his friends’ demise and making a run for it, the knife found him as well.
Rick, the warrior, proud of his victory, triumphantly marched into the bedroom to show his distressed damsel, his prized trophy, only to find I wanted nothing to do with the sight or smell of the tragic, dead rats!
Rick, the warrior, proudly walked into the bedroom with two singed smelling, dead rats to brag on his victory, only to find me loudly proclaiming that I did not want to see them, smell them or have anything to do with them!
Having conquered the enemy, his battle over, Rick decided to dispose of them in the alley dumpster behind our apartment complex.
He no sooner got there, opened the lid to toss them in, before a cat sprang out of the trash, grabbed the rats and had the finest cat BBQ in the neighborhood that night!
Rick came in and found the hole that they had entered through, which led to the run down apartments next door.
The hole was plugged, the baby put back to bed and the battle weary warrior and I went to sleep.
I must have eventually recovered from the trauma because my son and daughter-in-law currently have 4 domestic pet rats and somehow I haven’t disowned them yet!