Chapter Twenty: 2020 IS the Year of the Rat
October 3, 2020
Dear Diary,
The Governess is back!!!
I know it’s been a while and I apologize for the lapse in my correspondence. If I may, the reason for my prolonged absence was that I didn’t have a lot of good news to report.
To begin with, Mom Camp was an abject failure. Despite my best intentions and advance preparations, Mom Camp lasted about two weeks before we abandoned ship. I’ll chalk it up to my lack of Navy Seal endurance training, which is apparently a prerequisite to keep up with the daily needs of my charges. Whereas I was completely worn out by dinner each night, the children would grow increasingly more alive after the sun went down, almost as if they were feeding on my fatigue. Unable to outlast my wild things, I simply gave up trying to limit their screen-time and resolved to enroll them in military school at the earliest opportunity.
One evening, Hubby and I were up well past midnight binge-watching Designated Survivor, when we suddenly heard the most high-pitched, frantic screaming emanating from down below. Fearing the children were being kidnapped, Hubby and I bounded down the stairs and raced towards the shrieking, which was coming from our garage. We flung open the garage door to find the children cowering together in a dark corner.
“A rat! There’s a rat!” they cried out, too paralyzed to move. I wish I had reacted differently, but upon hearing the word “rat”, I, too, froze and was greatly relieved when Hubby heroically rushed in to rescue the children. We ushered them back into the house where they tearfully recounted their tale.
It all started with a midnight snack.
“Olivia wanted a midnight snack from the garage, but she was too afraid to go by herself, so she asked me to accompany her,” Tyler began. “As we entered the garage, we heard a rustling noise, but we assumed that Olivia had stepped on a broom.”
“I didn’t assume that,” Olivia interjected, “you did, but I didn’t correct you.”
“Anyways,” Tyler proceeded, “we opened the fridge, but then we heard the rustling noise again and this time we knew it was coming from a bag on the bookshelf. So we started to slowly back up towards the back of the garage, when suddenly we saw a rat leap out of the bag! The rat hit his head on the shelf above him and fell into the trash can where we keep cardboard recycling.”
“That’s when Tyler started screaming,” Olivia again interjected.
“Wait, that was just Tyler screaming?” Hubby and I asked incredulously.
“I was screaming inside my head,” Olivia insisted.
“That’s not true!” Tyler exclaimed, visibly irritated by all the interruptions. “Anyways, next thing we know, the rat jumps out of the trash can and stood in front of the garage door, staring at us menacingly, until you flung open the door and then he ran away.”
Unable to contain my horror, my first inclination was to declare that we must sell the house, to which the children enthusiastically agreed. Hubby thought that was a tad dramatic and promptly went back to the garage to prove to us that the rat had left. Neither the children nor I, however, felt very reassured by this inspection, so the following day I contacted an exterminator named James who arrived shortly thereafter in a very brightly colored truck, which he parked directly in front of our house, thereby announcing our shame to the entire neighborhood.
About five minutes into his inspection, James says, “uh oh, that’s a major concern,” before asking for permission to don a hazmat suit so he can inspect our sub-basement. My anxiety is sky-rocketing when James re-emerges from the basement several minutes later and takes off his gas mask to tell me that the good news is that we don’t have raccoons or possums, but the bad news is that there is evidence of rodent activity in our sub-basement. Perhaps to make me feel better about the situation, James mentions that the neighborhood has seen an uptick of aggressive rats due to the Pandemic (and a scarcity of food in restaurant dumpsters), but this doesn’t actually make me feel any better.
Long story short, however, after sealing up the house, and laying a few traps, the problem turned out to be fairly minor and quickly resolved. And it just goes to show you that 2020 really is the Year of the Rat.
Very truly yours,
Maya
P.s. - Lest you think I was exaggerating about the high-pitched shrieking, I attach actual audio captured by Amy Beth who was recording a video at precisely the same time!