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.
4 comments:
You poor chicken. I can offer you vibes of sympathy from across the Eastern Suburbs public transport divide!
PS Husbands don't like vermin any more than you do - they just don't want to lose face by being as scared as a "traditional wife". But still, better than no one having the guts to do anything about it I suppose...
Still looking out for potential husbands for you as always... one of my neighbours is recently single. Nice guy but possibly a bit religious, but then, earns well and owns property. Hmmm.
Thanks Lisa. Hm, religious hey? Not sure that's going to work too wel... :D Maybe I actually need an exterminator!
A cat would cathch the vermin, snuggle up at night, but otherwise be less troublesome than a husband. :)
sympathy though. Mice I can handle, rats give me the heebie geebies
Alison you have a point - but you have to clean up their poo and wee when you live in a flat.
My you my former human co-habiter wasn't particularly house-trained either. And at least if you make babies they can handle their own toilet business after a few years...!
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