On our property is a second building loosely dubbed the garage. We have a dining table out there, and recently organized the stored boxes and toys to make it look less scary for when the rooms start doubling as a photo studio. In this structure martial arts and plays are practiced, shelves and props are built, and sanity is restored when a group of women hide in there and work on becoming phenomenal writers. It’s truly a multipurpose building if ever I’ve seen one.
Oh yes, and that fifth family member? Well, this is where it lives. I bet you’ve guessed that it’s not a cute little baby, but a real, possibly cute, live rat; you’re a smart one, I know this about you. Though, upon reflection I can see the similarities. Much like a baby it’s not a domesticated creature, and also like a baby the aroma can be quite pungent. Though I’ve seen him run by a few times I couldn’t tell you if he is indeed cute or in fact a he at all. It could be a talented rat named Remy working by night in a French restaurant and I would never know, as much as we have contact with him.
Because of the low profile he’s keeping I’ve been only half heartedly attempting to rid our little enclave of him, obviously to no avail. Then the other day when I went to grab a bottle of gourmet Italian Balsamic Vinegar out of the “garage” which I had purchased specifically for a friend’s 40th birthday I noted that little teeth had attempted to open it around the lid. Okay, not gonna give her THAT bottle, I resolved. But what’s a girl to do?
So yes, a rat trap. What about that option? Well, you’d think he’d try to delve into the peanut butter I generously put on it for him. But not this rat. The fact that he didn’t eat the insulation as so many rodents do should have been a clue. Not our cutie little guy. Among his many eating accomplishments to date: he has chewed Barbie faces free of makeup leaving them youthful albeit a little gnawed looking. He has even chewed on a wine cork (red, what else). This guy has good taste, don’t you agree?
Yes, I applaud any creature with sophisticated taste buds, one who can truly appreciate the complex and bold flavors red wine and Balsamic Vinegar offer. But seriously? Unless he starts cooking for me… well, I think you know where it’s going from here. I think I might go to the hardware store in the near future for a new, trustier trap, and then drop by a gourmet cheese store for some brie. Maybe even put a fully made up Barbie holding a bowl of wine out there too for him, to ease his pain. Part of me feels bad, as I am an animal lover, really. But if he’s gonna mess with my gourmet stash? Well then, I think it’s time for him to go. Au revoir, Remy, sleep tight.