Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Rat in Toilet, again
Ten years ago, in 1995, I lived in one of the basement bedrooms of a fairly large house in Olympia, Washington.
It was June and I was graduating, and I had just been dumped by my significant other of several years, who also lived in the house. And I was violently ill with the flu.
I had just thrown up and staggered back to bed, when I heard some odd gurgling, sloshing sounds coming from the bathroom. Whatever it was, I thought, it could wait.
Many hours later, I heard a yelp from the bathroom as former significant other opened the lid. I wondered if I had forgotten to flush, but then I remembered that I had flushed. We stared into the bowl at a large rat that had apparently drowned there.
Now it's ten years later and I live in a fairly large house in Northeastern Ohio. Yesterday my current significant other discovered "a mouse" floating in the basement toilet. After fishing it out and carrying it upstairs on a shovel to bury in the backyard, S.O. showed it to me. "That's not a mouse. That's a rat," I said.
With any luck, this won't become a regular once-every-ten-years type of occurrence. Who knows whether I would be fortunate enough to have the lid down the next time some rat decides to go exploring?
It was June and I was graduating, and I had just been dumped by my significant other of several years, who also lived in the house. And I was violently ill with the flu.
I had just thrown up and staggered back to bed, when I heard some odd gurgling, sloshing sounds coming from the bathroom. Whatever it was, I thought, it could wait.
Many hours later, I heard a yelp from the bathroom as former significant other opened the lid. I wondered if I had forgotten to flush, but then I remembered that I had flushed. We stared into the bowl at a large rat that had apparently drowned there.
Now it's ten years later and I live in a fairly large house in Northeastern Ohio. Yesterday my current significant other discovered "a mouse" floating in the basement toilet. After fishing it out and carrying it upstairs on a shovel to bury in the backyard, S.O. showed it to me. "That's not a mouse. That's a rat," I said.
With any luck, this won't become a regular once-every-ten-years type of occurrence. Who knows whether I would be fortunate enough to have the lid down the next time some rat decides to go exploring?
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