Faithful readers will recall I can ignore bad news for a very long time. Such as visible, glaring water damage on the house that I refused to acknowledge for years until a flowering plant grew out of the siding on the second story. That calculated obliviousness cost me about $12,000. So it was way worse, probably, than the rat situation.

Been a few months now that I’ve suspected we have at least one rat in the house. There were scurrying noises. Not little mousies scurrying with they tiny feet, either. This was substantial, urgent scurrying. Every now and then there were turds. Looked rat-sized, really, but I would google it and get out the tape measure and try really hard to imagine it was just a large mouse, or a backed-up mouse.

One day I saw the plastic lid on my kibble canister had been chewed nearly-off, overnight. I came to the proper conclusion. That sent me into phase two of my procrastination protocol: simple dithering, with occasional forays into the internet as a substitute for action.

I landed on the bucket trap. The bucket trap is a great way to get rid of a lot of mice at once, or (it says here) five rats. You lure your targets up a ramp to the top of the bucket where it is tricked into falling in. Then you can take your pot o’ rodents far away and let them loose and tell yourself you’re going straight to heaven. Or if, like me, you’re more interested in sending your rodents to heaven, you can fill the bucket 2/3 full of water.

I am not that precious about life and death, in general, but I am averse to suffering. I’ve been known to flick off mosquitoes. But, from what I hear, drowning is a pretty good and quick way to go, except for the panicky part just before. I don’t know how existentially challenged rats get. Maybe they swim, just because, and get tired and five seconds later it’s all over. At any rate, I filled my bucket with water. First night, the little sucker got the peanut butter first thing and backed away before tipping into the sea. And hasn’t visited since.

I bought a couple snap traps.

My neighbor suggested I peanut-butter the trap without setting it so the rat loses its sense of caution, because rats are smarter than we are. That seemed like a great idea, not least because it put off the day I would have to actually set the trap, which is terrifying. Those springs are really tight and you always think you’re going to trap yourself in the act of setting it, plus they’re so loud when they snap that I would scream first and check to see if my finger was still attached later. I hate setting traps.

One week in, no interest in the peanut butter. Then one day I noticed it was licked clean! Huh! Well, probably a good idea to bait it without setting it one more time, right? Another week went by. Then the peanut butter disappeared. The moment of reckoning was fast approaching. Still, I put it out of my mind for my own mental protection. I locked it in the same filing cabinet with the incoming administration.

And then I noticed the ramekin. I had a ramekin full of toasted walnuts that was supposed to go on a salad and didn’t. It was on the dining room table. For days. And then one day it was empty. Dave didn’t eat them. I didn’t eat them. Pootie’s more of a candy guy.

I set the trap. It’s done delicately, with one’s shoulders tucked up under one’s ears, grimacing like Wallace in Wallace and Gromit. Then it’s scootched into place one millimeter at a time. It’s not fun. It’s like waiting till the last second to cut the wire on a bomb when you don’t know if it’s the green wire or the red wire.

But I did it. The worst was over. Right?

To be continued.