I have tried to be a good sport
about the unusual and various creepy things that live in this country.
For example, when the green mamba came into our house and slid under MY
side of the computer desk, did I immediately yell and scream and write a
nasty blog about it? OK, maybe I screamed a little, but I did not
write about it. And when the guards finally killed the black cobra
which resided under the container, I was rather calm and level-headed
about the whole incident. (The guards ate it, by the way! Ick.)
When fire ants attacked my feet, I was careful about
which words I uttered (children were listening!). When another green
mamba climbed up on the window sill of the supply cottage, I remained
relatively sane and collected (children were watching!). And even
the giant cockroach that nonchalantly sauntered out of the laundry room
did not phase me. Nor did the gnarly-looking beetle that Dave stepped on
in the driveway. A bat in the dining hall? I was a model of peace and
tranquility. See? I have come a long way in my tolerance of creepy
things.
But yesterday's incident was too much. I met Ratatouille.
We
knew that we had a rat problem in the kitchen (don't ask how we knew),
so Dave set out super-duper strength rat poison. And this guy had
definitely found it. I came into the kitchen at 7:00 am, happy and
cheerful (like always!). I greeted the kitchen crew, and went over to
the medicine box on the counter (like always). The kitchen crew was
watching me closely. As I opened the box to drop in my keys, I glanced
to my left, and there, two feet away, on the counter, within arm's
reach, was a nasty, large, hairy rat, gazing at me with his beady little
eyes. This rat was particularly ugly, as far as rats go. I screamed.
And rightfully so. I had been set up by the kitchen crew. They knew
Ratty was there and they thought it was hilarious that I kind of
freaked.
Due to the super-duper poison, Ratatouille was in no
shape to move, but he could roll his head back and forth, like he was
trying to intimidate me. And it worked. I screamed again and ran. I
called my big, strong, hunky husband to come and take care of dying rat.
He called the security guards to come and take care of dying rat. (So
much for visions of hunky husband riding in to save me!) The kitchen
crew was still laughing when the guards took Ratty away. And guards
Peter and Alphonso are my new heroes (Humph! Too bad, hunky husband!).
My heart finally calmed down, and the kitchen crew
sanitized all counters, and life went back to normal. Except that my
exceptionally loyal kitchen staff told and re-told the story of me and
Ratatouille all day, to everyone and anyone that would listen. I
suspect that I also was the hilarious story told over many cook fires
last night. No problem. Just between you and me, the kitchen staff might
not be getting a holiday bonus this year!
Wishing you a great rat-free day!
love, Babs
(No Christmas presents in the stockings of these gals this year!)
