It began. The night of epic proportions. At approximately 6pm on Saturday, I was stirring a pot of papaya jam, waiting on a friend to come over for a girls’ night, and preparing the ingredients for our made-from- scratch brownies.
And I saw it. This long, cord-like tail by a little blue ice cream box I keep below the leaky spout that gives me drinking water from the cement water monstrosity tank outside. Just two hours ago, I filled up my water-boiler without that loopy, grey tail curled like a serpent under the faucet. I just stared, open-mouthed.
In ‘Eua, I got used to long-ish tails from all the little geckos and lizards that run around. Sometimes, I’d gasp as a little tail vanished passed my bedroom door before I realized it was an annoying little lizard. But this was no gecko. This was a legit tail. I knew the time had come.
Of course, I’ve been preparing for death. I threw two poison-packs in the nooks and crannies of my kitchen, where Socrates has obnoxiously been eating things (other than my underwear, in which he totally violated my personal space.)
So I froze, spoon in hand. I stirred a bit more, contemplated. Stared again. It wasn’t moving. I walked through the kitchen, stomped a couple times. Nothing. The thing had to be dead…rats don’t leave their rear out in the open like that… but I was nervous. There was about a 3-4-inch opening between the wall and my cabinet, so even if I ever got the courage to reach in and grab the thing (fat chance), it would be awkward anyway.
So I brisked to my bedroom, grabbed my flashlight, and sauntered back into the death trap, hoping the tail was some genetic deficiency to the small mouse that had scurried out of my bedroom a couple weeks ago.
The corner approached. The light blinked on, the light shone into the crevice…the tail led to…
OH, MY GOD! I screamed….OHhhh, OHHHHH, BLLAHHHHHH! AHHHHHH! BLEH, BLEH, BLEH (these are my gagging antics).
I grabbed my phone, dialed Kaitlin. Nothing. Then, Kimberly. I paced, remembered my jam, stirred with great anxiety…
“Hey Big Nuts!” (long story)
“Ohhhhh Kimberly, oh—blah-mmrrrrr---eeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”
(laughter) “Uhh, are you okay?”
“Noo! No, I’m not. There’s a rat and I think it’s dead (voice rises to a high pitch) but I can’t touch it I won’t won’t won’t touch it and OH MY GOD it’s sooooooo big! It’s like HUGE, I mean fur and grey and big tail and it’s curly and itOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh holy Moses, Kimberly, I’m freaking out! I’m freaking out. It ate the poison and I thought it’d die somewhere I couldn’t see and I don’t want it to get stinky back there but I can’t touch it!”
After Kimberly rotated between laughing, listening, and consoling, she went through her usual checklist of disposing of rodents. (The girl has experience…her house kinda sucks.)
Did I have rubber gloves? No. Did I have a broom? Yes, but it wouldn’t fit in the crevice. The questions proceeded and we came to the conclusion that I needed to ask my neighbors to get rid of the expired Socrates.
My neighbors, my kind lovely neighbors who put up with two days of my scattered, busy, overwhelmed self (I locked myself out of my house/bedroom three times in two days), weren’t home at the time, so I just pondered. And stared at the tail.
I occupied myself with stirring the jam, tasting it, stirring it again with fervor and the need for distraction. (Though I’ll say, my papaya jam is bomb. Unless I try to multitask, in which it sticks to the bottom and tastes like gas.)
Then. The tail moved. It moseyed into the crevice and a concerned yelp escaped. I heard scratching and maneuvering, and thought, “Great…now he’s moved to die in my cabinets! Wonderful!”
I heard nothing for a few minutes and walked back over to check the crevice. Socrates’ big puff of a body had only inched forward, just enough to hide his tail. He looked so fluffy and gross! A few minutes later, I checked again, and his two beady eyes were staring at me. I convulsed and nearly shat myself.
Luckily, my friend Stephanie came in. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to the whole rat thing, but I explained the story. Her first reaction, after I told her of his intimidating size, was, “Is he like a New York rat or a regular rat?”
“Ummm, well, in my dramatic mind, which has never dealt with rats, thinks it’s quite comparable to a NY rat…then again, I’ve never been to New York, so I have no idea.”
Stephanie was extremely wonderful at calming me down, ensuring that things would be fine, that we’d see if he made an appearance later. “He’s definitely sick,” she said.
And sure enough, he did make a sickly appearance. He crawled from the crevice and into the ice cream box for a sip of water to quench his poisoned body, then sauntered to the middle of the kitchen and sat. Just sat there.
“Uhhhh…Steph-a-nie…what the—what is he doing?”
‘Oh man, he’s definitely sickly. Do you have a broom?”
“Yeah…”
“I’m thinking we should try to sweep him out…then again, he could retaliate behind the cabinets or perhaps behind your oven, which would be unfortunate.”
“Okay, hmmm let me get…oh shoot, I should take a picture! Hold on.”
So I took the picture, after which Socrates retreated behind the cupboard. Of course, he’d left a nice bloody turd on the floor for me. I smiled at the thought of his internal bleeding.
So we ate our brownies, drank our tea, and I chopped off Stephanie’s wavy locks for a cute, funky short cut. (What can I say, I’m really building my own career capacity, in case writing, volunteering, and schooling doesn’t quite work out.)
Steph walked into the kitchen to take a last look at the new do as I swept the hair off the front steps.
“Okay. Jamie, I’ll need that broom. Don’t panic, but Socrates is in here, and he looks not so good. I think I can sweep him out. You don’t even have to come in here, just hand me the broom.”
“Waaahhhh? Seriously? He’s just chillin’ in there?”
“Yup.”
I handed her the broom. “Do you want me to open the back door?”
“Nope,” she said, “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll get it propped open, sweep ‘im out, and then he can die a peaceful death under the stars.”
I stayed rooms away but watched her sweep out the body and that long tail into the abyss of roosters, yippy dogs, and the twinkly night sky.
And I forgot to blow my trumpet.
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