Another One

hydrangea
Originally uploaded by mygothlaundry

Well, the RatZapper killed its first rat and this one was even bigger than the previous two, who were huge, so if this trend continues soon the rats in my kitchen will be the size of grizzly bears. This is hopeless. This is horrible. I can't believe that I have killed three rats in my kitchen in the last week and I want to move out immediately - failing that, I want to sit down and cry forever. The dogs are afraid to go into the kitchen now - fat lot of help they are. Why do I own the two wussiest dogs in the whole fucking world? My old dog Toby killed rats (and squirrels, which did cause the occasional trauma in the park but oh well, what can you do) in Baltimore routinely with no fuss or difficulty. One shake and gone. But these dogs are totally useless and, as an aside, in a moment of madness (they were giving away a DVD of classic Lassie episodes and I couldn't resist the lure of the prize inside!) I bought the farting dogfood again so by tonight not only will I own paranoid, fat, useless dogs, they'll be paranoid, fat, useless FARTING dogs from hell who are cowering under my bed and filling the air with their noxious gases while the rats make merry sport sacrificing one another to the RatZapper. Oh god, oh god.

They're not the only ones who are afraid to go into the kitchen though. I can barely bring myself to cross the threshold now even in daylight and after dark I'm just too terrified to go in there. I can't stand this. I know the refrigerator has to be moved and the holes found (the traps next to the fridge are the ones getting all the action) but I can't move the fridge myself. Not only can I not move it alone, but if I move it and there's, like, a rat king in there I will die, I tell you, I will just fucking die right then and there and then my useless dogs will be left homeless, not to mention my son, if he ever comes back from the apparently completely alluring mid Atlantic region and, also, the QOB will have to find someone else to schedule her doctor's appointments, so, you see, it's not a terribly convenient time for me to shuffle off this mortal coil.

I feel like an idiot and a wimp but I also feel like I need some help here. What I need is an army of big tough macho spitting men with bats and maces and pointed sticks and maybe elephant guns and shit to go into the garage and pull everything out and kill the army of rats who my paranoid self is sure will cascade out of every box and rubbermaid container out there. The very thought makes me nearly hysterical so I'm thinking about advertising on Craigslist for some mercenaries or temporarily unemployed members of the French Foreign Legion to come over and deal with these rats. Which probably won't work either. Oh god, oh god.