December 13, 2004

The king and one of his subjects

This isn't what you think. It's...well, you'd better just read what superstar essayist Tim Dempsey has written:

About two months ago, we started hearing a sound in the attic. "Attic," in this case, means the unused triangle of space between our bedroom walls and the pitched roof, with two access doors. There's about enough room for one person to walk around three sides of the house while crouched over. I thought at first that the sound, a light scratching, was birds on the roof, but it soon became too loud for that, and at one point Lysa heard a screech so loud she thought it must be a raccoon. Like a varmint's dying wail, she said. Still, I didn't think too much of it until we noticed a nasty odor in the guest room. Mildew? Dead rat, was Lysa's theory. I took a light fixture out of the ceiling, thinking I might somehow be able to reach it, if it was a dead rat. When I took it out, though, the odor poured out stronger than ever, along with a stream of rat shit. Big trouble.

      We consulted an exterminator--super nice guy--who explained that there are two kinds of rats: Roof Rats and Brown Norwegians. Roof Rats are smaller and darker, with long tails. Browns, on the other hand, are big, mean fuckers with cropped ears and short tails--the Doberman Pinschers of the rat world. The exterminator planted three rat traps in the attic and told me to keep an eye on them. Professional rat traps are only slightly more advanced than the kind you see in the grocery store. They're bigger and made of plastic, with a lever for setting and releasing the snap, which is a nice addition. Exterminator Guy baited them with molasses and suggested peanut butter for when they needed to be re-baited. On the second day, I got a rat. Crushed right through the neck, must've been killed instantly. Looking at his face, you would swear he was still alive. But the bait was gone. Strange.
      I rebaited with peanut butter. A couple days later, I got another one. It was a good kill, snapped right in the middle. And, again, the bait was gone. I realized that once the trap had been sprung, other rats were coming in and snagging the bait. Fucking sly. As for the second trap, it was sprung and baitless, but had a clump of skin and fur on the snapper. Almost got the little bastard-—he was hurting, no doubt about it. Now something fierce was awakening in me. I was starting to really get into this. I rebaited and chose my trap placement more carefully. I didn't want any more walking wounded.

      The next day, yesterday, I found the first trap sprung again, bait gone. Damn those things! The second trap, though, freaked me out. It was sprung, but there was only a bloody rat-skin, with a tiny claw still attached. My blood ran cold. I pictured a skinless rat running around my house with lint stuck to its sticky, bloody body. I called the exterminator and tried not to stutter. I needed to know there wasn't some zombie rat crawling through my walls looking for revenge. He goes, "Yeah, the other rats ate him." Holy shit. I had no idea. I rebaited.
      This morning I caught two more. One in the neck; the other at the base of the skull. Both of those fuckers had been chewed on, too. One had his ear chewed off. The others guts were hanging out. My skin was crawling, but these sick little bastards were pissing me off, too. The exterminator said that it's good when they start eating each other because you know they're out of food and getting desperate. Rebaited.
      Came home tonight and checked my traps. The first was unsprung. The second, though, was gone altogether. Uh oh. I grabbed a flashlight and found the trap. It was six feet away from where I set it and there was a big motherfucking Brown Norwegian in there staring right at me. HE WAS ALIVE. His snout was crushed in the snap and the fucker was breathing really heavy and just staring at me. There was a trail of blood from where I set the trap to where he lay, nose crushed, dying.
      He's the king. The boss. He was running the show. I know it and he knows I know it. I'm sure he's the last. He has been letting the young ones kill themselves trying to get bait, then finishing the bait and eating his subordinates. He was a true son-of-a-bitch, and he's dying in my attic right now.