We have rats again. We had them last fall and spent what seemed like a lot of money to have them removed, although that seemed like a slightly more reasonable figure when we watched the nice men pull huge decomposing rat corpses out of the attic and take them far, far away in their truck.
But the rats came back this week, and I tell you hearing the loud but weirdly delicate scritch of rat claws in your downstairs ceiling is a profoundly unpleasant experience. What if they claw through the drywall and leap at our throats while we sleep? Or go for the eyes? Everyone knows the eyes are the most succulent part!
The nice men had promised to come back for free if the rats returned, so when we heard the thumping and scratching the other night, the original sum seemed smaller still.
Eric said the guy came over today and walked around our backyard for a while, then sniffed and said, "I smell rat piss." Eric said we had cats, so was he sure, because...and the guy cut him off and said, "No, that's rat piss." Then he sniffed a little more and showed Eric the hole where they got in.
What a terrible superpower to have, to be able to distinguish rat piss from all other kinds--I know for a fact we at least have raccoon, possum, cat, and human* piss in the yard, and I can't smell any of it, let alone tell the difference.
But in a way it's also beautiful. At least the guy can make a living off his ridiculous skill. I mean, I can touch my feet to the back of my head, and so far that hasn't gotten me shit. Anyway, the rats should be gone for good this time and then the cats can stop staring intently at the ceiling for hours at a time.
*Shut up, it's good for the compost pile.