A Rat Tale

It was 2am and my parents, our friend Virginia, Rod and I were fast asleep on Kawau Island in our friend’s beautiful bach. Such an idyllic spot, I could never have imagined the night time scenario that was about to unfold. . .

I’m known to be a light sleeper and was awoken by the sound of bottles clanking together as if someone were rummaging through the empties. Below our bedroom is the rubbish bin, and I immediately thought of racoons in the garbage back home in America. No racoons here, but possums are equally leftover lovers. I had to go investigate.

I venture down the two steps that lead to the kitchen and the side door and see the door has accidently been left ajar. I pull it shut without a further thought and turn on the outside light. As I squint to see if there are possums licking spaghetti and tuna tins, I hear the rattle of bottles coming from just behind me.

I swing around to see the pantry door is open and in the corner where all the liquor bottles sit is something big, brown and hairy slithering around in the corner.
With no thoughts of causing the older folks a heart attack, I scream at the top of my lungs, “ROD, THERE IS SOMETHING IN THE HOUSE!!”

I burst up the stairs, passing Rod and barely giving him time to exit the bedroom before I slam the door shut.

Dreary eyed and no doubt with a racing heart after being awoken by a screaming lunatic of a wife, Rod descends into the kitchen as I yell through the safety of the door. “What is it?”

“You’re crazy, I don’t see anything.” I am now starting to cry and laugh as the whole thing is both scary and funny at the same time.

As Rod fumbles for the pantry light, he answers my question very matter-of-factly, “It’s a rat.”

Okay, now . . . as background info you must know . . . . during the past five years or so, I have developed a phobia toward rats. But the funny thing is I have NEVER actually SEEN a rat . . . . until TONIGHT.

At first I think he’s actually attempting to joke with me at 2:05 in the morning. He’s just said that because it’s really nothing, and he is trying to get me going.

I have the door cracked open and say again, “What is it?” because his answer certainly can’t be true. He annunciates more clearly this time. “It ... is ... a ... RAT.”

I look at my mother who is across the hallway standing in her bedroom doorway. She just loudly exclaims, “Oh no! It could get in our rooms!” And she slams the door real fast. That’s the last I see her that night.

When the excitement began, my father had the urge to pee (no surprises there). Now he emerges from the toilet and wanders downstairs ‘to help.’

By this point, the rat has come out of the pantry and scuttled behind the fridge. I imagine Rod standing in the middle of the kitchen floor wondering what move to make now, when my father says, “Well, of course there are rats around here. That’s no surprise.” And he wanders back to bed leaving Rod alone in the kitchen.

Now, at this point, I know the rat is a reality and I believe I actually suddenly escalate into a true state of hysteria for the first time in my entire life. I am standing on top of the bed, laughing, crying, sobbing, shaking and sweating from fear.

I can hear Rod in the kitchen banging things around and I’m not sure what is happening. He comes into the room and my state, I think, actually scares him more than the rat (not that he’s scared of a stinkin’ rat...).

He tries to console me . . . “Is it gone?,” I ask. “I think it got out the door,” he says. “You’re lying,” I sob. “Well, I’m not actually entirely certain but I’m pretty sure it’s left the building,” he soothes.

“How (sob, sob) . . . . big (sniffle, sniffle) . . . is it,” I choke out. “Just this big,” Rod says, and holds up his fingers to show it’s the smallest rat in history.

“You ARE lying,” I cry. He just hugs me because he can’t retort.

“I can’t (sob, sob) . . . . sleep (sniffle, sniffle) with that thing in this house,” I weep.

So, Rod goes out for round #2. He puts any scrap of food away, closes pantry doors, bangs on the fridge a few more times and comes back to bed.

“I do think it did go outside when I wasn’t looking,” he says and comes back to bed. I just roll my eyes with a ‘yeah, right’ and then start in on some deep breathing exercises. I’m trying to resume some sense of calm while Rod gives me a bit of a cuddle (with the lights on, just in case the rat can slip under the door...).

Now, my mind starts to invent any number of scenarios. I begin to be especially worried about leaving the room with the possibility of the rat scampering about the house. I suddenly feel like I might have to use the toilet, “What if I have to pee later?,” I whisper. “Wake me up and I’ll go with you,” Rod says. My hero.....

We finally turn the light off and Rod resumes a soft snore while I lay completely awake, blanket pulled up to my chin. Within about 15 minutes I start to hear noises. A crinkle of a paper bag, tap-tap-tap of little rat feet (oh, goodness, is it scraping at my door!?), and then suddenly the crash of a broken glass.

Let the screaming begin again . . . .“Rod, it’s still down there! On the shelf with the drinking glasses!” He quickly appeases me and gets up with haste and goes to investigate.

Yes, a wine glass is broken. Evidence that the little hairy sucker is STILL in the house! Ah-hah! Rod was lying to me.

The folks get up again. The whole house is awake because of this stupid rat.

My father actually finally contributes something to the night and has an idea . . . bait. Rod sacrifices a slice of bread, putting it out on the deck just outside the door the rat originally came in. The lights are turned off, glass cleaned up, and we retire to the bedroom where we can watch if the rat exits the house and takes the bait.

It doesn’t take long till the furry monster scampers out the door and starts munching on the wholegrain, no doubt thinking the night’s hunting has really paid off.

With the rat safely back in the bush, we all finally got back to sleep around 4am. Two hours of rat antics. Not my idea of a relaxing weekend at the beach!

I should mention this entire time Virginia has been sound asleep in the boat shed....

When the sun came up, the hysteria was forgotten and it was all just a funny story we kept retelling throughout the day. Needless to say we bolted all the doors shut each night from there on out – we weren’t taking any chances.

Now there is talk that my family want to put me into rat therapy (I worry, hoping there isn’t actually such a thing). And Rod’s even talking about getting us a rat for a pet . . . . apparently he’s already named it ‘Snuggles.’