March 11, 2014 New directions

As the progress on my current novel is going too slowly to record noteable progress here, I decided to do something different until I can give you an update that's at least a little exciting.

Essentially, I'm going to use this space to exercise my funny bone (or at least write some things which amuse me!).  I hope you'll be amused.

This week's offering was inspired by my garage cats, Hailey and Cinders.

A couple of years ago, I was alerted, by way of a chewed through radiator hose on my 4 month old car, that I had some uninvited guests who had taken up residence in my garage.  I suspect the event was triggered by the city's insistence that my neighbor clear out the jungle in his back yard.  As our city, over the last few years, has taken it upon themselves to be more annoying than any HOA could possibly be, we have been forced to live up to their lofty standards, in this quiet, lower end subdivision. 

Finding that their current environment had become inhospitable, these pointy-nosed, four-legged squatters had moved, en masse, into my garage, where they found all of the comforts a rat could hope for:  bins full of clothes to chew up for nests, a cupboard full of paper towels to shred, various foodstuffs stacked neatly on shelves, just waiting for sharp teeth to rip them open and consume their contents, and lots of clean space to foul. 

Upon learning that the sudden overheating of my car was the bold and unapologetic work of this extended family of rodents, I set out to do the right thing by our environment, and purchased traps instead of poison. 

Have you ever heard a rat snicker???   Trust me when I say that it is not a comforting sound.  It is especially disconcerting when 20 or 30 of them gather around a trap, making little rat jokes about the silly human who thinks for a minute that they would set a single paw into the evil contraption. 

Seeing that a passive approach was not going to rid me of either the rats or their destructive ways, I started putting out feelers for what Red Skelton dubbed "nature's exterminators".  Having owned cats for many years (or rather I have been owned by them!), I knew that they were very effective hunters, but I was not prepared for the incredible prowess of the Hailey and Cinders rat removal team!

Inside of a month, amidst a cacophony of squeaks, grunts and thunks, my garage was rid of the filthy creatures.  Even when a rare one managed to hide for a bit, once flushed from their temporary hole, I would walk away, wait in the house for sounds of the interloper's demise, then go about my business. 

My shop vac did triple duty sucking up the evidence of the rats' extended stay, and we moved a number of things which had held their place for years, but, eventually, the place was clean, the freezer which had fallen victim to the feeding frenzy was replaced, and my life returned to its peaceful flow.  I had also gained two very affectionate girls who had, at one time, been considered semi-feral. 

But the story doesn't end here.  A hunter doesn't stop hunting once the easy prey is gone.  No!!!  The girls have rendered a two block radius completely inhospitable to small, furry, four legged creatures (though the two, yappy brown dogs who run loose in the neighborhood are still around, sad to say!), and, though they hunt less often, still manage to keep their skills sharp.

This week, my first indication that hunting season was open was a large pile of white feathers on the front lawn, next to the plum tree.  As there were no bloody parts attached, I was ok with that. 

Apparently, I failed to offer adequate praise for the elimination of a clearly thieving bird, because the girls stepped up their game.  Were it not for a sharp eye and fancy bit of dancing this morning, I might have found my bare foot covered with mouse guts! 

The corpse was place just outside the door which leads from the kitchen to the garage (where, thanks to the girls, I can, once again, safely store foodstuffs!).  Small, it might have been, but bare foot and dead, well, anything, is the stuff of nightmares!  I think I might even learn to backflip if it were necessary to avoid the meeting of guts and foot!

Realizing my error (but not before using half a roll of paper towels to dispose of the latest offering), I heaped praise upon the heads of my two huntresses, not bothering to remind them that I'd prefer they place them somewhere less likely to be found by bare feet.  I knew it would fall on deaf ears anyway!

Here's to my little exterminators.  May they live long and prosper.

Write on!