Mice, rats and I go way back. Growing up, our sand box and swing-set were situated (quite strategically) behind the shed in our backyard. Under the shed, lived a ratcoon (a rat the size of a raccoon – probably because it ate one) who I named Schnitzel (because he looked like an overstuffed sausage and food is always the first thing I think of). He had beady little eyes, long jagged whiskers and a foot-long bald tail. I can’t tell you how many times I was on that rickety old swing set and he would be shiftily eyeballing us from his lair under the moldy, dilapidated shed. I think he was secretly waiting for one of us to fall lame and then make his move so that he could harvest our flesh from our young, defenseless bodies (at least that’s what I thought in my fantastical mind). On one of the rare days he was actually brave enough to venture out of his hideaway while we were all out, my baby sister tried to crawl over and pet him because she thought he was a bunny. I, however, was onto him (being worldly and all) and jumped in to save the day and scare him off (all I had to do was show up), thus saving her from being swallowed whole (see – I’m not all that bad – BTW, I’m still waiting for my freakin’ hero trophy). I also have my suspicions that Schnitzel was involved in the overnight disappearances of our two pet bunnies, Oreo and Cracker Jack (food again).
Another time, when I was eighteen, some friends and I went camping. The cabin we were in was really not much more than a glorified picnic pavilion (minus the glorified) and all we had were sleeping bags sprawled out on the floor. In the middle of the first night, I awoke to a loud crunching sound right in my ear. In my weary, mostly-asleep state, I turned my head ever-so-slightly towards the sound only to be eyeball to eyeball with a rat gnawing on my hair (really can’t blame the poor thing for thinking it was a rat’s nest). Of course, I went from being mostly asleep to shockingly awake in like one second flat (it’s amazing what the human body can withstand, really) and my blood-curdling scream not only woke everybody in our makeshift-can’t-believe-this-even-qualifies-as-a-cabin cabin, but every person in the entire campground (even across the lake) and surrounding houses. That clueless little rat picked the wrong hair to gnaw and never even knew what hit him. Let’s just say, after that experience, I’ve never gone camping again, nor was I ever invited back (their loss – I drove every critter out of that place for at least the season – they should be begging me to come back, ingrates).
Furthermore, I must not leave out all of the cheese-stealing, get-their-rocks-off-scaring-people mice that have tormented me throughout the years. Honestly, I think they can smell control-freak, blood-cuddling screamer and thus, they like to fuck with me. It’s like there is a command center hub for them and they radio, “Cue the scamper” when they see me coming and the closest mouse gets the job. Its definitely one of the top reasons I detest visiting my parent’s farm in Kentucky. Those sadistic menaces are popping out everywhere down there. I know I should expect it by now, but I inevitably have to let my guard down, and that’s when they strike. I’m sorry, but the next time one strolls across the top of my bare foot, in the middle of the night, carrying a fun size Milky Way, the shit is going to hit the fan – AGAIN. Or, when a mischief of mice decides to spring out of a box of cereal at me (yet another argument for bringing my own food), the fan is getting hit again (this time with even more – and louder – four-letter words). Lastly, if they crawl on me when I’m sleeping, even if it’s just to play “King of the Hill” (or hills), all bets are off and that damn fan is coming down (nobody screws with my sleep).
As I said, I don't hate the vermin (strongly dislike), I just don't like how scheming they can be. They are all cute and cuddly when they are caged and under my control. Hell, I've even been known to pet one a time or two when they are properly restrained (and muzzled - me). Yes, rodents of all kinds and I have quite a colorful past and I'm sure we'll continue to cross paths in the future. Just as long as they don't try to nest in my hair, mess with my food, fuck with my sleep, or skitter out at me (basically, if I don't ever see or hear them), we'll co-exist just swimmingly.
