I went and checked my mail the other day. Big news, I know. On my way back from the front of the house, I discovered a dead rat on my walkway. I hadn’t checked my mail in well over a week; I had no idea how long that thing was lying there.
I skirted around it and went back inside. Normally, my plan of attack is to ignore my problems until they go away. Unfortunately, this time, I had to do something because my brother and his dog were coming over and would walk down that path. I knew Butters would try to eat the thing, and then there would be no way that dog was coming anywhere near me ever again.
I didn’t want that to happen to us, so I knew I had to take action. It took several hours for me to muster up the courage and come up with an actual plan of attack. I grabbed my (disposable) implements, took a deep breath and went out to take care of the job. Only when I rounded the side of the house, I noticed something was different.
The fucking thing had moved.
I know, logically, that it’s dead and that it didn’t move on it’s own, but at that moment I was freaked out. I felt my courage drain out of me. I stood there with my implements hanging limply at my sides staring down at the rat wondering if it just “looked dead”.
Suddenly my implements weren’t good enough to dispose of a zombie rat, so I retreated back to my place and accepted defeat. Only I couldn’t just leave it there and I didn’t have enough time to get tanked up in order to restore my courage. Also, that would be awkward when my brother showed up to have a normal dinner with me and realized that I was completely shitfaced on a Sunday afternoon.
So I did what most girls would do in that situation; I called a guy for help.
I texted my neighbour and asked if he was at home. He responded and said no but then immediately called to see if I was okay. I told him about my problem and he told me not to worry about it and that he’d take care of it. 20 minutes later, he got home and I got a text saying “It’s gone”.
Thank God you George!!
The oddest thing about this tale, is that you hadn't checked your mail in over a week. Are you a recluse? Hermit? Fighting off a deadly illness? Agoraphobic? I'm fascinated.
ReplyDeleteAs for the rat, I would have used a shovel or one of those trash picker claws, anything to avoid direct contact. Nothing wrong with being afraid of touching dead rats, that's how the plague started.
Maybe, just maybe, it was sleeping. Did you ever think of that? Now, it's going to wake up in a trash bin, wondering how it got there, promising itself it will never drink that much again.
ReplyDeleteIt probably drank a spiked drink and was passed out. However, never trust a dead rat NOT to be a zombie rat, they are cunning.
ReplyDeleteHow were you planning to dispose of the rat with a cinnamon bun roll and a chair without legs? I didn't know you could channel MacGuyver.
ReplyDeletePickle - it's not that facinating. Mail is at the front of the house, I'm at the back. I get mail maybe twice a month. And I'm lazy. :)
ReplyDeleteNellie - I poked it and it didn't move... is that better or worse?
Brian - you're right, it was probably ruffied and now it's in a better place... the landfill!
Gorm - it was a rolled up magazine and a cardboard box... yeesh!!