The Rodent Chronicles, Part 1: The Happening

This could happen – maybe soon.

Officer (Animal Control): “So do you want to tell me what happened here? Or do we have to go downtown?”

Me: “I was in fear for my life officer! It was self defense!”

This did happen – last week.

The Situation

Remy the Rodent

Remy the Rodent

Remy made a guest appearance in my garage. Actually I think it was his long tailed, cheese eating, ugly stepbrother. And like a big three auto maker CEO at a Congressional bailout hearing, he felt perfectly comfortable taking up permanent residence in my garage ceiling.

It’s not quite as gross as it sounds. I live in the middle of a swamp. OK maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. There are empty wooded lots on both sides and a wooded marsh out back of our home. Environmentalists and people who wear blazers and capri pants call it “wetlands” but it’s basically just a swamp. And it’s not like our garage is really part of our personal space. I happen to live in one of those houses where the entire living area is one floor up and there is a semi-open garage underneath at ground level. The smart real estate marketing people call these “raised” homes. I have figured out that’s just another way of saying that once every couple of dozen years, a tsunami is expected to roll under your house and wash pretty much everything away. With this model, the even-smarter insurance companies only have to replace the junk in your garage instead of retrieving your dining room suite from the neighbor’s pool.

But I digress. Over several days, Remi’s ugly stepbrother was spotted making homestead claims on the “junk side” of the garage. Clearly I could not have some two-bit dictator rat wanna-be upsetting the balance of power in my garage. It was clear that a regime change in the lawn tools section was not only legal, but justified.

The Plan

I did not think I would need a well thought out plan, nothing along the lines of the AIG bailout anyway. After all, I have a graduate degree, and while I have not met this rodent personally, I am pretty sure he does not.

So my initial plan was pretty simple:

  • Put yummy bait near his hole. Actually it’s MY hole in the ceiling.
  • Tip-toe down to the garage once in a while with heavy armament.
  • Cap his butt.

The Equipment

  • (5) slices of Kraft Singles – Select, torn into aesthetically pleasing shapes and sizes.I was planning to use just one slice, but Remy apparently feels entitled to steal my cheese without getting shot. Freaking Socialist.
  • (1) Beeman air rifle, .177 caliber, scope equipped (thanks favorite son of mine!)
  • (1) pair quiet shoes for real stealthy tip-toeing.

Results: The Agony of Defeat…

That arrogant little puke ate my cheese! And he did not even have the decency to let me cap him. Not even once!

Being a WWII history buff and a John Belushi (Animal House) fan, I had to ask myself “was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?” Many battles make a war. I lost the first, but production capacity is on my side. I am quite confident I can bankrupt this guy in an arms race.

More to follow.

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