I appear to be playing chicken with a rat in the kitchen.
Unbeknownst to me, I appear to have a primal fear of the little fucker. He ran out when I went in, then when I went out he ran back into the kitchen and under the fridge. I am absolutely goddam starving because I just got home at 9pm and am trying to heat up some curry I cooked last night, but the thought of mr ratty underfoot while reheating is making my stomach turn.
But I live on the 2nd floor, so I don't know how to encourage him out. Too late go and buy rat traps and the thought of emptying one tomorrow is disgusting too.
This is a moment when I could really do with a goddam husband. And I don't say that too often.