No, this tale is not about the elusive RATs (Rapid Antigen Test for covid) that everyone here in Australia is clamouring for. Reading this won’t help you unearth a secret stash or hidden location, or give vent to your frustrations in not being able to source them.
The star of this show is the ordinary Rattus rattus, with the use of higher case merely denoting my extreme dislike of the creature.
As couples do when they live together for forty-two years, hubby and I developed some rather comfortable allocations of tasks. However, when one of a pair leaves this world, as my mate did in March 2020, the remaining person undergoes a significant readjustment in all aspects of life. Which sounds way tamer and easier than it actually is. In reality, it is a feat of endurance that only the strong survive.
In this role playing of ours, hubby liked to fix things, play builder and deal with vermin. Well, the last one wasn’t so much that he liked doing so, but because it needed to be done, and I wasn’t going to do it. Not if I could help it. Plus, he seemed to enjoy the challenge.
This afternoon, I opened a drawer on the patio. A damn big rat jumped at me, before scurrying to the back. I squealed (of course) and leapt away. The whiskery rodent with its spindly long tail hunkered down in the darkened corner, preparing to give no further quarter.
I had used this cupboard just over a week ago. It wasn’t from neglect and disuse – something that weighs heavily on my mind these days – that the pointy-nosed critter had decided to dwell amongst my gardening tools.
Rats and I have never gotten along. Perhaps the Pied Piper and the poor wee kiddies of Hamelin have something to do with it. Or images of the horrors of the bubonic plague, of decaying bodies and gnawing teeth. Needless to say, hubby was the go-to-guy for their removal, dead or alive.
After all the damp weather of late, the ancient timber wouldn’t budge when I tried to slam it shut. I stood frozen, perplexed as to why this current reincarnation of literature and history didn’t just scurry off. To my horror, I saw several balls of squirming fleshy blobs, the colour of a deep purple–mauve bruise. A nest!
Memories of an angry mother attacking hubby when he unearthed her brood during renovations, flashed through my mind. What the heck was I going to do? There was no way they could stay. My house has large open bi-folding doors and unscreened windows. The thought of the creatures scuttling about inside was enough for me to react without thinking.
I yanked the drawer out. It landed with a crash onto the hard pavers, breaking on impact. Secateurs and cutters flew out, scattering amongst chewed plastic debris. Choosing desertion over maternal instincts, the parent bolted (cue loud sigh of relief), leaving the young on the ground dead or close to it.
I am not going to describe what they looked like. If you really want to know, I’m sure google will oblige your curiosity. Let’s hope I don’t see them when I close my eyes tonight.
Now what to do? There was no way I was touching them, even with gloves on. I scooped up five with a small shovel and disposed of them. Then I found one more. And another. Seven in total. Yuck! But at least I averted a mini plague.
Limitations are like walls made of paper, easily broken through when we see them for what they really are : flimsy cladding that gives a false sense of comfort.
Now to deal with the damage. I am not a fixer of wooden things, not do I feel drawn to learning carpentry. The cupboard is very old, and came from hubby’s family. The bottom of the drawer is tongue and groove. I struggled and sweated, trying to figure out how to put it back together. The smell was, shall I just say, rather pungent. Several times I looked over at the weathered cabinet, thinking I should just move it on. Perhaps a nice comfy seat would work nicely there?
I kept at it. I don’t know why. Maybe I have just grown better at dealing with stuff. Since hubby died, I have lost count of the breakages and leakages, the rotting and decaying – toilet, shower, tap, gutters, downpipe, pond, dryer, solar hot water, retaining wall, spa release valve, doors, windows; and the termite and bora infestations. Oh, and the house was broken into. So many things have fallen apart or been attacked, it often felt like the home we created together, was mourning his passing as much as I was.
Losing my partner in life, has pushed me to the edge of my world. I have come close to falling off so many times, I struggle to regain any memory of stability. Add death in the time of covid, lockdowns, border closures, separation, absences, business challenges. So much lost, missed out on, never to be recovered. A perfect storm of calamity.
Why I am writing about such a mundane event? After all, people deal with vermin everyday.
Because if I can deal with a live rat’s nest, you my dear friends, can deal with anything.
