What I wish I didn’t hear
“Skitter, skitter, tick, tick. Skitter, skitter, tick, tick.”
You guessed it. We have a new resident. Mr. Schrock has reported two sightings, one in our bedroom and one in the living room.
I have a dark and terrible history with his kind. The first painful incident was chronicled in this column from the archives entitled “I’m going bugs over here.” I can still feel the scrabbling of tiny claws on my leg. Ewww!
In the dark of the night as I lay in my bed, I hear him, running through the walls and skittering around overhead. And I wish very bad things for him.
There was a visit from his predecessor one Christmas Eve at our old house as we slumbered – again – in sleeping bags on the floor around the Christmas tree. We were prepared that time around, having set a trap with a tasty morsel in the broom closet. I was awakened from my holiday dreams by a ghastly thumping and banging. Rousing my in-house rodent removal technician, he stuck his head, bleary-eyed, into the closet, and there he was…caught, but alive and thrashing.
Unable to look, I burrowed under the covers as The Mister scraped him into a bucket and set him outside in the freezing dark to go night-night. For good.
It’s not freezing yet, so I implore Mr. Schrock to get a trap and make it die! It’s time he goes “into that good night.” I’m ready to hear silence again.