Mr. G and I were were sitting with Alexander in the family room, which is open to the kitchen, but also has a sliding door (complete with dog door) to the back garden. My boys were playing with the PlayStation and I was trying to understand it. I came dangerously close to caring about it when all of a sudden my son and husband saw a rat run in through the dog door and make a sharp left into the kitchen.
Mr. G and Alexander leaped into action, my husband guarded the kitchen so the rat couldn’t leave (remember it’s a galley kitchen) and Alexander ran upstairs (because he’s smart). Naturally we were all barefoot, and anyone who’s seen a horror movie knows that rats will nibble your toes off. I went upstairs and got some boots on, and my husband yelled for the kids to bring him shoes.
The kids wouldn’t help. Stinkers.
I did what any self respecting blogger does.
I updated my twitter page.
Shortly after the original chaos, we resumed our positions.
I wielded a broom and a glass of Chianti. My husband had a hockey stick and a grimace. Our son grabbed his hockey stick too, but it was sheer defensiveness, he didn’t want to mess up the stick with rat goo (see, I told you he’s smart). Jane had the most interesting take of all.
Jane came downstairs in spiky heels. With a humongous Jacobs jersey, skinny jeans and my outdated beige mules on, Jane stuck her hand on her hip and explained to us all that that high heels are the best way to kill a rat.
Everything about rat hunting represents our family accurately, from the hockey, to the sweeping, to the child teetering between football tossing and balancing in heels.