Sunday nights are normally spent reflecting on the weekend that was and the week that’s to come. It’s also a chance to sit in a comatosed state on the couch watching the crap Dstv serves up.
Last night was no different for us. Until we heard a rustling in the lounge. Emma said “Oooh! What was that?” I said “I don’t know!” Mark said “Go look!”
And then we saw a shadow. A huge shadow.
I was making tea in the kitchen, Emma up to her usual antics and Mark was on his couch. The next thing he yelled. Loud. A rat, the size of a cat, had just run right past him, into Emma’s room.
We occasionally have a vermin infestation. There’s open veld behind us and an empty house next to us, so rats are inevitable. But they usually sneak in once we’re asleep, nibble on dog biscuits, scrummage around a bit and leave. But this rat was like the Rambo of rodents. He was Rambodent!
I ran in the opposite direction. To get my phone. I was gonna Instagram the crap out of this moment. Emma, Mark and two dogs went chasing after Rat. Mark quickly learnt that Emma could not be trusted as a tracker. She screeched “There! There he is!” Mark asked “Where? Where?” and Emma answered “There!” and she pointed to the ceiling and told Mark that the rat is flying. With all his friends.”
Mark had the rat cornered in Emma’s room. The two terriers were scrambling and scratching to get to the uninvited guest and Emma was squealing with delight. At one point she heard a rustle under the bed and asked me what it was. I said I thought it was the rat. Delayed fright set in and she bolted out the room as fast as her little legs could carry her. But then she came back in the room, laughing and telling us how much fun she was having.
Mark had a blankie and Emma’s ‘stick’ pony as his weapons of choice. Emma, for some reason, and I’m still not sure what the reason was, was running around like the karate kid, only she had my white gown ‘belt’ around her head.
Her and I were on the bed, feet up, and encouraging Mark to get the rat. Though another thing Emma can’t be trusted with just yet is her loyalty. One minute she was yelling for Mark to get the rat. This next minute she was cheering ‘Ratachewy’ to get away.
Mark was gung-ho and a man on a mission. Until I asked what he was going to do when he caught the imposter. Mark’s a nurturer. Not a murderer. And so plan A changed to plan B.
We were going to guide the rat towards the window and he would climb out and make his dash for freedom. Which meant flicking him from where he was perching to closest window. Needless to say this didn’t go as planned. Mark flicked, rat lost his balance and ‘trapezed’ through the air. Onto the bed where Emma and I were. I screamed. Emma screamed. Mark screamed. And I think I heard Rat scream.
All the while Mark’s asking if I’m getting this on video and Emma’s asking me to take pictures of her. The good news is the rat got out the window. Emma had the ‘best time ever’ and our usual dull Sunday night routine was a bit of ‘cirque do so hell’!