You Dirty Rat

So I had just come home from out of town... i don't remember where, so for excitement's sake, well say uh, Portugal. It was lovely. Upon my return, Mike tells me that frankenstein had brought a huge rat into the house while I was away. I don't believe him - this was SLC not dirty NYC - we don't have giant sewer rats.
The next morning I wake up to see Frank having a staring contest with a clothing bag of stuff i was getting rid of in the hall. Anytime this ADHD cat is focused on anything, it generally ends poorly for all involved. This was no exception. Thinking that he had his weekly mouse/ bird (of which we kept a running tally on the fridge; 9/4 at the time), i pulled the bag away from the wall to see a HUGE freaking rat. "Holy crap," were my only words as I pushed the bag back toward the wall with my foot. Curse Mike for being right! The rat was back - its body the size of a 20oz coke bottle with an almost equal length pink, worm-like tail.
My interference was the catalyst for the rat's escape attempt, and he bolted into the living room with Frank in hot pursuit. There he cornered himself under a table and sat in defense position staring down frank, the great hunter (so great that I still have no clue how he carried that thing in to begin with).
Mike had caught it in a big box, and had ran it 5 blocks away and dumped it out. I was now scrambling down the driveway in my boxer briefs to grab the same box - my neighbors staring at me like i am crazy. So I grab the box and a my putter as the instrument with which to guide him into said box. Meanwhile Neighbor mike and son come in to see what all the commotion is - My question: "what the hell do I do with it once I get it in the box?" To which his only response was, "well, you are holding a golf club..."
That is no good. I am no wuss about most things, and I have no trouble killing stuff like bugs or strippers (because they're already dead on the inside), but listening to bones crunching beneath my fingers is a little much for me. So I corner Ratonio and start shewing him into the box fairly aggressively with the club - the whole time he is nipping at it and HISSING at me. Yeah - I didn't know what sound a pissed off rat made either. I get it in the box, shut the lid and take a deep breath. Now What?
I decide to call the toughest person I know, my mom, for advice. She surely will come to my rescue. "Mom, I just caught a huge (expletive deleted) rat! What do I do?" Calmly, she asks, "Do you have a shovel?" Dammit! No help again. I guess was going to have to do this on my own.
But I am smarter than some stupid rat, right? I will simply outwit the bastard - princess bride style. So I go the the bathroom medicine cabinet, break out a bottle of sleeping pills, grind them down in a mortar and pestle, and mix it into some peanut butter on top of a tortilla. Genius! Now it's lunchtime for both of us. Worried that he may try and chew through the box, I put it in Kevin's enclosed shower in the basement, and go out for grub.
An hour passes, and I am excited to go home and find Ratos Ratos Jr in his eternal slumber of doom! No. Such. Luck. That little SOB didnt even touch the stuff. So onto Plan B. Oh wait, I don't have a plan B...
The next brilliant idea I have is to throw him into the big city garbage can, and pouring in bleach and ammonia: a simple mustard gas death-combo. This seems like the best possible way... for about 5 minutes. Upon further review, I decide this may be a terrible idea. I don't know what its effects are - aside from killing you, and I only want HIM to die, not both of us. So the move becomes poison for just one of us, with the classic D-Con waiting game. I really don't give a damn if he knows it's poison or not, eventually he'll get so hungry he'll eat it anyway, and I'll have to win the war he has waged! I double check to make sure the shower door is snugly secured, and head to the store.



Albertson's Aisle Five: I am looking down at an array of blessed pest products that should help me finally alleviate my problem; his life. This is the moment when Beth calls to see what I am doing - "Can't talk, buying poison, killing rats."
"WHAT? Aaron, if you kill that rat I am not having sex with you for TWO WEEKS."
Abstinence = Aaron's Kryptonite. I sit in stunned silence on the other end of the phone for a solid 40 seconds before trying to renegotiate, "but baby!?" .... "TWO. WEEKS."
I should never have answered that phone! She says that there are places that will take it in humanely. I remind her its a rat, not a puppy, but she is insistent. She also thinks its kind of cute and names it Templeton. Shoot me now. Another amount of time passes, and this has been all i have done all day. Beth calls and confirms that no place will take our disease ridden sewer monster. I feign surprise with a playful facetiousness. They do tell her some fun facts about rats though - like that they can sniff their way back up to 9 miles.
And so the headache grows. The only solution in Beth's gorgeous little eyeballs, is to drive it beyond 9 miles away and let it go. The box has been getting dripped on the shower for damn near 4 hours now and I am worried about its integrity. Beth arrives at my house and we quickly transfer Templeton into an old kitchen garbage can - duct tape the lid closed and start driving. I reset my odometer and drive him 12 miles, just for good measure, up Emigration Canyon. I hear him snarling through his yellowed, jagged teeth as I pick the trash can up, and decide its best to come back for it later... like when it's empty. I cut the tape, give a quick love kick to the can's side and let him go...right where I end up moving 6 months later. Fortunately, we never met again and the only reminder of him was the new category on Frank's death tally:
9 mice, 4 birds, 1-2 huge freaking rats.