(Left: What a packrat really looks like and Right: What I think a packrat looks like)
Tonight, I went to bed and read for a bit (ok, a long bit). Harmless one would think, right? Not so much. I was reading peacefully when suddenly I heard a noise in the kitchen. Being the intrepid country girl that I am, I went to investigate.
There on my countertop, happily eating my cherries (that I just bought today, thank you very much) was a packrat. A PACKRAT. Now, I suspected that I might have a packrat living with me (and anyone who reads my blog knows this isn't the first time I've encountered this particular bit o' fun) but I was happily in denial until this point.
I looked at him. He looked at me. Then he carried on eating my cherries. So I did what any rational person would do; I yelled a very bad word ('Motherfucker' to be exact - sorry, Aunt Gay) and grabbed my broom. Cleverly (or so I thought) I opened the screen door to the deck and the chase was on. I tried to gently guide him (read: "beat") him towards the open door. He decided that going under my sofa was a much better idea which is hard evidence that this creature is likely smarter than I am. I stuffed the broom under the sofa and he took off again with me chasing behind him until he decided to go downstairs. No way in HELL was I following him. It's dark down there and being a nocturnal creature, I decided that he likely had the distinct advantage at that point.
I needed moral support so I phoned one of my friends who doesn't want to be named in my blog (it rhymes with 'Barb Vincent') to tell her my tale of woe. She laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. She told me that we should name him (Percy the Packrat, no less) and that I should just think of him as a small cat. Uh huh. She thinks this is a spectator sport. Tomorrow night she wants to come over and see him.
I had just finally calmed myself down when the wee bugger made a second appearance. A second appearance! I had put everything that resembled food away securely in the hopes of thwarting his thievery, but this time he decided to eat the flowers that my Seeso left for me. I liked my flowers!!! More broom action, less swearing. Back down to the basement he went.
I hate to admit it, but.... he was cute. Not just a little cute. Really cute. Imagine a squirrel, but about 4 times larger. Seriously, how cute is that?? Tomorrow I will find a live trap. I think I know a guy who has one. Aaarrrggghh!!!
Maybe Barb needs a 'small cat' at her place.....
There on my countertop, happily eating my cherries (that I just bought today, thank you very much) was a packrat. A PACKRAT. Now, I suspected that I might have a packrat living with me (and anyone who reads my blog knows this isn't the first time I've encountered this particular bit o' fun) but I was happily in denial until this point.
I looked at him. He looked at me. Then he carried on eating my cherries. So I did what any rational person would do; I yelled a very bad word ('Motherfucker' to be exact - sorry, Aunt Gay) and grabbed my broom. Cleverly (or so I thought) I opened the screen door to the deck and the chase was on. I tried to gently guide him (read: "beat") him towards the open door. He decided that going under my sofa was a much better idea which is hard evidence that this creature is likely smarter than I am. I stuffed the broom under the sofa and he took off again with me chasing behind him until he decided to go downstairs. No way in HELL was I following him. It's dark down there and being a nocturnal creature, I decided that he likely had the distinct advantage at that point.
I needed moral support so I phoned one of my friends who doesn't want to be named in my blog (it rhymes with 'Barb Vincent') to tell her my tale of woe. She laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed. She told me that we should name him (Percy the Packrat, no less) and that I should just think of him as a small cat. Uh huh. She thinks this is a spectator sport. Tomorrow night she wants to come over and see him.
I had just finally calmed myself down when the wee bugger made a second appearance. A second appearance! I had put everything that resembled food away securely in the hopes of thwarting his thievery, but this time he decided to eat the flowers that my Seeso left for me. I liked my flowers!!! More broom action, less swearing. Back down to the basement he went.
I hate to admit it, but.... he was cute. Not just a little cute. Really cute. Imagine a squirrel, but about 4 times larger. Seriously, how cute is that?? Tomorrow I will find a live trap. I think I know a guy who has one. Aaarrrggghh!!!
Maybe Barb needs a 'small cat' at her place.....
Ok people. I just got up to pee and what do I hear? Skittering. In the kitchen. The lights go on again only to reveal the not-so-cute-anymore packrat with a guilty look on his face. I forgot to take the bread out of the bread basket. Yes, on the counter. Round 3. Broom in one hand, dustpan in the other. Wild look in my eyes. Medusa hair. Terrified packrat. Behind the microwave? Oh, no mister, I can get you there. More packrat terror. More wild-eyed Suze. He finally regains his composure and finds his path downstairs again. Seriously people. It's 3:26am!!!! Grrrrr...... perhaps I can find a less humane trap in town tomorrow. Like, say... a weapon. Ninja thingies. Whatever. I'm in. If you see me in cammo with a crossbow slung across my back in the next day or two, best not to ask any questions.
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