I keep a running list of random things in my brain that I mean to blog about “sometime” for whatever reason. On the one hand, I’d probably remember more of them (and actually get around to writing about them) if I wrote them down. On the other hand, I kind of figure I’m a big enough dork that if I don’t write them down, it saves me from an even deeper level of geekdom.
(On the third hand—who has a third hand?—think of all the wondrous world problems I may have had the brain power to solve, were it not for random blog topics, all the words to every song on Beauty and the Beat, and all of the other useless crap I have tucked up in there. Just sayin’.)
Anyway. I did mean to update you on a few things. Because I’m swell that way.
First, I know you’re waiting to hear an update on the rat situation. I mean, that nice young exterminator who would NEVER LIE TO A PERSON insisted that we had roof rats running rampant under our house, so surely they’ve since trapped tens and hundreds of the critters, right? Money well spent, legions of vermin vanquished?
GUESS how many rats they’ve caught. GO ON, GUESS.
Yep. That’s right, our horrible INFESTATION has yielded the trapping of exactly… zero rats.
When Otto reported this to me while I was still in Philadelphia, my bullshit meter began beeping LOUDLY. “They lied to us,” I said to him. “They totally made ALL of that up, knowing I was squicked out and would fork over the money for an extermination we DIDN’T EVEN NEED.” I was livid.
Otto insisted that we could still have had rats. Maybe they leave during the day, and weren’t there when they closed off all the access points, blah blah blah. I was skeptical. Maybe we’d had some rats under the house ten years ago, and Exterminator Dude was all “Look! Footprints! GIMME YOUR MONEY!” I don’t know.
But the biggest mystery: Right after Otto reported the empty traps, he also reported that he and Licorice were still hearing something under the house. To which my response was WHAT THE HECK??
Otto called the exterminators back, and they searched everywhere and swore up and down that not only was there nothing under the house, there was no way anything could possibly get in at this point. While they were all standing in my office arguing this point (I was still away), ALL of them heard… something.
The exterminators went back under the house. After what Otto described as an extended period of time, they discovered the source tucked up under some crossbeams in the crawlspace.
Kittens. No doubt courtesy of one of the neighborhood feral cats.
Only one of the kittens was still alive, and the exterminators took it to the humane society in the next county (ours doesn’t take cats anymore). Apparently our “rat infestation” was a litter of kittens, which we then paid an enormous amount of money to have separated from their mother. (GUILT. I HAS IT.)
Licorice is no longer stalking my office bathroom, at least….
On a lighter note, I know you’re also very concerned about my continued adventures with the TSA, so I thought it only right to come clean about the last bit of my adventure with them when coming home earlier this week.
It turned out that my departure gate had a SECOND security station set up by it; meaning that even though we’d already been through the standard security screening, they now had two TSA agents pulling people out of line to check them AGAIN.
Bear in mind, I had, by this time, spent hours at the airport the night before, then left after my flight was canceled. Now it was first thing in the morning, I was exhausted, I had a carry-on bag full of dirty laundry and THE CONTRABAND HAIR PRODUCT…
… so of course I was pulled out of line for screening.
I was patted down by the female agent while the male one opened my suitcase. He shoved my dirty laundry aside and went straight for my toiletry case. “This is it,” I thought, “this is where I’m finally arrested for smuggling hair gel. The long arm of the law has finally caught up with me.”
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” said the agent, zipping my bag back up. “Have a nice flight.”
Not sure what that was all about, but I took my bag and got on the plane.
Maybe they were just looking for kittens. (Oh. Too soon? Sorry.)