Not exactly the post I planned as my reentry into regular blogging, I tell you!
Mrs Widds and I took a couple of weeks off recently to go do touristy things in the Kootenay Rocky mountain region of BC. I have pics of glaciers and snow-capped mountain tops, and we both realised we absolutely love breathing the air at 2000 meters above sea level.
So, that was going to be my lead-in story, however, the best laid plans of mice (rats, actually) and lesbians …
We’ve been aware of the pitter-patter of tiny clawed feet in the house for a few months now, but we thought that turning the house upside down looking for the little bugger would’ve scared it off.
We’re not heartless beasties so before we left, we set out a bit of fruit for it, just in case it decided, for some unknown reason, to stick around.
We arrived home from our adventures to the gutted skins of two bananas, and knew we’d have to take drastic steps.
We bought this:
‘Critter’, as we now called our diminutive (and as yet of undetermined species) houseguest, turned out to be smarter than the average bear, (probably not an actual bear though, probably) and eschewed falling for the old pile-of-nibblies-at-the-end-of-the-trap trick, so we resorted to the trail-of-seeds-to-the-opening-of-the-trap trick.
Side note: Mrs Widds has a thing about rats ever since one of her cats, long since departed via the Rainbow Bridge to the Summerlands, gifted her with a very large and very dead rat … on her bed … while she was sleeping … about a centimeter from her face.
Let’s all have a skin-crawling shudder at that image shall we?
Therefore, I was the designated remover of whatever species ‘Critter’ turned out to be.
For two nights Critter snacked on the dwindling number of seeds in front of the trap but didn’t cross the Threshold of Doom. It was all part of my Plan though.
Last night, having got Critter accustomed to finding food near the trap, I only put seeds inside it. Critter’s fate was sealed!
Overconfident, Critter crossed the Threshold of Doom and the trap snapped closed behind it .. just about the time Mrs Widds got out of bed. (She’s an early riser. Me? Not so much)
I felt a gently tap on my shoulder, and woke to the immortal words, “Happy Birthday. It’s a rat!”
To her credit Mrs Widds spoke softly, in spite of what she felt about the slithery, snickerly, squirmy, freaked-out RAT, bouncing around inside the trap, trying to escape.
I got dressed, released Critter-rat outside and fell back into bed.
I am 56. Bring on that second Saturn Return!