The Rat

Being a night watchman was not the most exciting job. In fact, it could be dreary, under stimulating and quite boring. Once I had figured out the number of ceiling tiles in the entire expanse of the building including the dark recesses where the light bulbs were seldom replaced, counted the number of floor tiles, the square feet of all interior sheet rock walls, and total tonnage of cinder blocks in the exterior walls, boredom really set in.

This was a good job for a college student or a big reader, but without falling into either category, the time passed in slow torturous increments.

 As sure as the leaves would soon turn their beautiful autumnal colors and the children would complain about their new teachers, a rat would try to avoid the change of seasons. Every fall a rat had gotten in seeking warmth, food and a safe place to nest.

I went about my perennial task putting little balls of peanut butter bait on the traps in corners, which had proven fruitful in years past.

Having fallen asleep in my chair one night, I awoke briefly and by the dim moonlight streaming in through the grimy skylight, I saw the rat. It was not just any old rat, but one that would go down in the annals of rat history. This one was dark brown with a rich coat of well-nourished shiny hair, and intelligence burning in its beady little eyes. He was cunning, stealthy and extremely coordinated, grabbing the corners of the trap with his paws, always avoiding the trip wire and carefully licking the peanut butter clean with the skill of a surgeon performing a delicate operation.

In the morning, I checked all the traps; without exception all were emptied, and none were sprung, quite a feat for any rodent! I was impressed and had met my match. From here on in it would be a game of wits, a dance to the death. High noon had arrived!

This went on for about a week and in the occasional glimpse of my worthy opponent, I noticed that his girth had widened. The peanut butter was beginning to affect his waistline. Finally a chink in the armor, a sign of weakness!

Walking past my small refrigerator one morning, and not at all feeling like The Great White Hunter, I noticed a small  post-it stuck to the door near the floor. Removing the note while putting on my reading glasses I read the following:

Sept 22, 2018

Dear Night Watchman,

Greetings,

                F.Y.I., I will be out of town for a few days, visiting my cousin in the county. I couldn’t help but notice that we are running out of peanut butter and, in  my absence , I was hoping that you could pick up a new jar.Thank you in advance for your attention to this matter.

Fraternally yours,

The Rat

P.S. Some grape jelly and white bread would be a wonderful addition to this culinary feast if it is not too much trouble and please cut off my crust, if  quite convenient.

My reaction was a combination of incredulous fury combined with amazement! The penmanship and sentence structure were impeccable, indicating that the rat must have spent his youth hiding in a grammar school, crawling out at night to practice what he had learned during the day’s lesson. Every t was crossed, every I dotted, the upper case letters perfection!

After calming down I decided to take him up on his request, purchasing white bread, peanut butter, jelly and cutting the crust off my offerings.

Following his return from holiday, time passed slowly. Each morning I went out to check my traps like a woodsman in the great northwest ready to bring his bounty to the trading post. Each morning the cunning, curious rodent had licked every trap clean, until one morning when I found him dead in his tracks, sprawled out on his back. A large potbelly now eclipsed his abdomen. A piece of white bread was sticking from his mouth and there was a glutinous mass of purple jelly on his snout. It appeared that he had suffered a massive coronary due to his poor eating habits and general lack of exercise.

I always get my rat!

Jim L.

Jan. 2020