Rats!

Not only an expression of Charlie Brown-esqe pique, but also the name of the animal causing that pique. Apparently there's quite an extended family of them running around in my attic. And while it's unfortunate that rats thrive wherever there are humans, it is fortunate that if we're going to be plagued with them, at least they're very, very stupid.

[Thoughts going through the rat's brain] "Ummm, that peanut butter smells good. Wonder where it came from? Well, who cares, it smells really good. And I wonder what that machine is that it's attached to? Well, who cares, because it smells really, really good and, wow!, it tastes really good too, and..." WHACK!

So I've killed three in the past couple of days, and I look forward to the day when I no longer hear the pitter patter of little feet above my head.

But....

The last one took the bait while I was sitting more or less directly beneath it, and come to find out, they don't just get their necks broken and die quickly and quietly. With all the thumping, I thought it might have been a puma, or at least an opossum. Now it happens that I place the trap just inside the opening to the attic, and that opening is (in the typical fashion) a two-by-three-foot rectangle above my bedroom closet covered by what should probably be plywood but is, in my case, some of that dimpled white foam that ugly ceilings are so often made of. Not strong stuff. And, in my case, a moment's carelessness (while I installed an ethernet cable leading from a router in my bedroom to a computer in Emma's bedroom) resulted in the removal of a corner of that piece of dimpled foam — an approximate equilateral triangle with legs of about three inches — plenty of room for a little beastie to fall through. And in truth, while I watched I saw at least the tail come into plain view.

Now, I don't like the idea of confronting an animal that, although trapped, is very much alive and really pissed off ("But, I was eating peanut butter! How can this happen?"), no matter how small it is in comparison with me, so I immediately called Raven into the room as a first line of defense. For awhile, there continued to be more bumping around in the attic than is likely to occur in a WWF contest. But it stopped. And I was left to wonder — has that thing shuffled off the mortal coil, or has it escaped and run away, or...is it just waiting for me? I happen to have bought an air horn a while back, in order to make a lot of noise on New Year's Eve, so I waited awhile and then blasted a coupe of jolts (Raven didn't like that), got no response from the beastie, and went up into the attic to discover I could add another notch to my belt.

HHHhhhhhhhhh........ (That's me letting out a deep sigh.)

All of this, of course, while true, means that I haven't been sailing enough and so have too little to write about. That's to be resolved soon: On Sunday there's a Capri 22 race, the first in which two of the Christie brothers will contend against one another. More to come.....