I don't want to be a grownup anymore...

I have rats. Well, my backyard has rats anyway. I've known there were a few running around the back fence and that didn't really bother me until they decided my laundry room was cool digs. The idea that I could go in with a basket of laundry and hear scuttling behind my dryer was revolting. I had to do something. My options are somewhat limited. I was afraid of using poison since my dog might get hold of a sick or dead rat. Then I discovered my dog is the polar opposite of a ratter. I once tried to get her to 'finish off' an injured rat caught in a trap and instead she ever-so-gently picked up the rat from the concrete and put it on the soft grass in the yard, obviously showing pity for its plight. Great. So I had to whack the mortally wounded rat to finish the job. Ick.

So I decided to go with a trap. I've caught 3 so far and times like this really make me appreciate the woman my grandmother was. When I lived with her in college we discerned there was a rat living on the back porch. MY room was the closest to the back porch so I was freaked. At one point said rat got into the house proper and my grandmother chased it with the handle of a plunger. She managed to chase the rat into the bathroom where she proceeded to whack at it mercilessly until said terrified rat pounced from surfaced to surface, finally jumping into the toilet and swimming down the drain to a merciful drowning, which was much preferred to the manic granny with a stick. I- at the time this unfolded- was curled up in a fetal position on my bed with the doors closed, whimpering like a little girl.

Well dammit, I may never have the nerves of steel of my grandmother but I have been forced to be a grownup and lure rats to their demise. I bait my medieval contraption with peanut butter, gently set the mechanism of death and retire for the evening. The next morning I peek out the back door and more often than not, am greeted by another victim. I haven't found a good disposal option so I am burying them in various spots around the front yard.

At this moment I am far from hungry for breakfast and feel like Tony Soprano with various graves and body locations stored in my head. I send out a psychic message to rats in my perimeter. Stay away. Don't make me kill again. Your deaths erode my soul.