At about 9.00 last night, just as the kids were drifting off to sleep I heard my husband call me from downstairs.
“Jess, Jess I need you!”
As is my habit, I refused to go downstairs. I had (still have) a cold, I was tired and grumpy. It was a little unusual in that he continued to call for me. “Jess, I really do need you!”
The yelling roused the kids, this isn’t a house where we yell for one another. Finally I yelled down and asked what the ruckus was. My husband explained that a rat had run in through the dog door and was somewhere between the kitchen, dining and family room. I did what any Mommy Blogger worth her salt would do. I updated my twitter status:
and then I realized that the rat needed to die.
So, maybe I overreacted a smidge. My husband needed a second set of hands, and since ours is a galley style kitchen with only two entries, we’d kill the rat ourselves. Right?
I pulled on a pair of hot pink rain boots just in case the rat thought of biting my ankles. I joined my husband downstairs and the kids stood on the balcony looking down on us, delighting in their delayed bedtimes.
I gingerly stepped into the laundry room and retrieved a broom. My husband grabbed a hockey stick. We stood there, armed with our sticks we stifled a giggle. Then I failed.
I was absolutely unable to keep a straight face. My husband was opening kitchen cabinets and getting ready for a rat to run out. With each successive opening I got more giggly. It was too much for me.
I sat with my broom and kept an eye on the kitchen doors while my husband ran to the drug store for some rat traps. We set a few of them in strategic spots in the kitchen where the dog couldn’t get them and went upstairs to bed.
I’ll be getting up early each day, because if the hamster finds it’s way into the trap, well? It’ll have to be our secret.