So, this morning I awoke to get ready for work and to prepare myself for compiling a pdf that would morph all day until the last available moment to post because dicks kept changing shit and the system works like an anaconda with a lamb in its innards...
Deep breath. It's Friday. It's over. Pant. Pant. Pant.
So, I was performing my daily ablutions and Mr. Froth was up and about pulling laundry to do or something and as I poked earrings into my ears he said," Oh God."
And I said, "What?!? What?" thinking that Dot or Merv had thrown up/shit on one another or something else, you know, the same ol' same ol'.
He said, "You don't wanna know."
I said, "WHAT?!?"
He said, "Well, I guess there are rats around here."
Back story: we're in pare down mode, get quotes mode, divest ourselves of stuff mode in order to ready this pigsty to sell so we can downsize within the next year or so. We had the trapper keeper round up the raccoon earlier and he laid rat traps in the attic, because we knew there was evidence of rats and we've been here 23 years and I've SEEN rats in the yard in years past. So, no big deal. I think he trapped one a month ago.
Soooo, I wandered over to our bedroom door and gazed upon a fucking. dead. rat. A large fucking. dead. rat.
My buttcheeks clenched as I envisioned New York City babies having rats trundle across their cribs and us being chewed to death in our sleep and all.
Then, I realized. Merv. MERV had kilt that sucker, brought it in as a trophy, sneakily, last night while the back door was open for a minute while I was smoking a cig or something and I didn't realize it.
That MUST be it. Because, if it isn't, we're screwed.
It was a largish rat there.