The Rats of N.I.M.H. Live Under My House

Seriously, I think they do. As I might have mentioned before, it's been rather cold of late and the area wildlife have been looking for warmer places to live. Apparently that place is in and under my house. Shudder.

For those aliens from another planet whom have never heard of the book or seen the movie, The Secret of N.I.M.H.. Here: The Secret of N.I.M.H. movie.

I have semi-recently discovered my enjoyment of watching birds. I'm not a fanatic-weirdo-dressing-up-in-my-waders-and-vest-weird-visor-thingie-on-my-head-lugging-around-a-tri-pod-for-my-camera-with-the-four-foot-long-lens-and-the-binoculars-that-I-have-to-drag-around-in-a-case-on-wheels-because-they-are-too-heavy-for-me-to-carry-type-of-bird-watcher. I am a sit-on-the-couch-and-watch-the-birds-in-my-yard-eat-the-seed-out-of-the-feeder-through-the-window type of birdwatcher.

I have a very cool feeder thingie that my brother Tony made for me. I decided to use it to put the day old bread and stuff like that in for the birds to eat. Sometimes its fun to watch the squirrels figure out how to get stuff out of it. I also have just a standard tube type feeder that I got at Target. Yes, I am easily amused. But of course, as with all things, I needed even more entertainment. I looked up on the Internet how to make your own suet for the birds. It's basically a high fat and protein mixture that you put in a suet feeder in the winter to help the birds stay fat which keeps them warm. A person can buy it just about anywhere, including a grocery store for cheap, but I like to make my own, you know vegetarian style. The store bought one's are usually made of lard and some kind of cow fat goo. I hung one of these up between the tube-style feeder and Tony's feeder.

The other day, I was sitting in my recliner, watching TV and alternately looking out the window watching the birds in their own version of tag-team wrestling (trying to knock each other off of the four perches, fighting for seed), and I started to wonder if any of the smaller, younger birds had figured out that they would get more seed if they just pecked it off the ground. The larger birds are so busy fighting each other that a lot of it falls. I also noticed that the nuts and stuff I had put in Tony's feeder were gone. I guess the squirrels had eaten them.

Then I noticed that the suet feeder was gone. What?!? I was instantly pissed. I immediately thought that I must not have put the feeder high enough and Mazzy must have ripped it down. The chain was still hanging from the tree.

I went outside to find the darn thing, but it was no where to be found. I could not figure out where the darn dogs had put it. They usually just leave there "toys" in the middle of the yard, they don't bury them or anything like that. As I was rounding the corner to look again near the feeders, a rat scurried under the house. Yes, you read right. A friggin' rat! I'm pretty sure my eyes bugged out, but I can't be positive because I was too busy holding in my screams as I ran back into the house, arms waving, boots making weird sucky noises in the mud. Needless to say but, eek!

Rats!?!?!?! Seriously? Under my house? I still shudder, even while I write this. Apparently, they have been mooching off of the seed that the birds drop from the feeder. And I started to suspect that the rats had absconded with my suet feeder. They needed to be eliminated. I needed to come up with a plan. But first a little re-con.

I silently approached the couch in the living room that sits under the window that is my primary viewing area I normally reserve for bird watching. But this time the mission was different. As I knelt on the couch to watch for the rats, I caught movement in the corner of my eye. I turned to look and immediately flinched back in horror.

As rats go, if they had oh, let's say, gangsta names, this guy's would be, "One Bad-Ass-Rat-Fucker". But we will call it B.A.R.F. for short. And it was sitting, about three feet from my face, in Tony's feeder like it didn't have a care in the world. It had to be at least a foot long and (sorry mom, but) it's balls were the size of the meatballs you find in a can of Spaghetti-o's. (Betcha never eat those again, eh?) What kind of rats were these?!? Maybe they inter-bred with the local nutria population that I've mentioned before.

The B.A.R.F smirked at me, ran down the tree and ran under the house. Three other smaller, but none-the-less still gross rats, came out of hiding and followed. I had to come up with a plan to get my suet feeder back. I just had to, by now it was a matter of principle, but my mind was still stuck in "eek" mode.

I eventually was able to come up with something. I armed myself with anything I could find that would protect me from the icky rat-ness that I was trying to avoid. Oven-mitts? Check. Hot dog tongs? Check. Steel colander for a helmet just in case they jumped on me from above? Check. Giant machete in case the B.A.R.F. was not really the biggest rat, but maybe just the second biggest? Check. Flak jacket leftover from my ex's Army days? Check. OK, I was ready. Well almost ready. I had to wait for the hubby and the kid to leave so no one could secretly film this or anything like that. It's one thing to write about it, it's another to have to relive it over and over again on YouTube.

I entered the back yard through the back door. I paused a minute to orient myself to my surroundings. (OK, that part's a lie, I was actually looking to see what new goodie piles my dogs might have left me.) As I stealthily approached the place I had last seen the B.A.R.F. go under the house, I was startled to see, just under the leaves of the apple tree, what looked to be magazines. I think I stumbled upon their outhouse of sorts. Perfect! What better place to catch them with their pants down so to speak. I took out my home made rat trap, that I had previously slathered in peanut butter and set it down near the rat turds.

I then proceeded to look for their lair. As anyone who has watched the Secret of N.I.H.M knows, it must be under the rose bush. Well, I looked there, and I guess these rats are trying to be more stealthy. The main hole was right under the damn bird feeder. And guess what I found right inside? My now empty suet feeder. Fuckers. I can't wait to go inside and watch from my window as the rats one by one get trapped inside my ingenious rat trap.

   RNKAJRRM7DKN                             

Brrrr Freaking Brrrrrr

Yesterday I was driving to school to take my last final of the Fall term and noticed that there were almost no other cars on the road. It was after the usual get-to-work crowd, but still, there should have been more people.

This morning I figured it out. It freaking 19 degrees outside! Right now. Are they kidding me? This is the valley for Pete's sake! OK maybe not the San Fernando Valley, but it's still the valley. It's not the mountains, where it is supposed to be 19 freaking degrees. No one wants to leave their homes and I don't blame them. My dogs don't want to either.

Harpo and Daisy run outside, pee right outside the door and run back in. No amount of coaxing seems to get them to stay out long enough to work out a poop. Sooooo, guess what I woke up to this morning? Surprise!! Poop on the floor! Just what I always wanted. NOT!

Since this cold snap started, I think Mazzy's wolf instincts have kicked in. Have you ever watched a nature show depicting wolves in the wild? It seems that the small critters come out when it is butt-ass cold out to forage for food, I guess. That seems to be the case here at Wild Life Ranch. Mazzy knows that they are out there too. So far since this cold snap began, she has gotten out of the yard three times. She even figured out that if she took a running leap at this plum tree that is next to the fence, she can base jump off it, and over the fence. Well shit, that tree is getting super-pruned. I think that maybe, just maybe if it gets at least to thirty degrees today, I'll take the dogs to the dog park. Although Mazzy seems to be the only one really interested in going outside, they all could use the exercise, myself included.

Mom--1, Asshole of a teen-aged son--0

My son and his friend, spend most of their time huddled together, laughing about boobs or XBox or the latest crisis with their girlfriends. They are good boys, but my son will occasionally have a brain fart.

As I was driving them around the other day, the gas bubbled up and spilled over.

"Hey, Mom. I need you to stop at Rite Aid."

He turned in his seat and looked at his friend and they both smirked.

"Why? Are you out of something?"

"No, not really. I need something, though. It starts with a 'c' and ends with 'dum'".

More smirking, with a side of giggling. Although as teen "men" they would never admit to "giggling".

"Oh, really?", Dumb being the operative word here because you-won't-have-anything- to-use-if-you-keep-up-with-that-shit-and-who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are-my-God- have-you-lost-your-ever-loving mind?!

They are laughing and having a great time and I just had a coronary.

"OK, OK! It's an inside joke, Mom!"

It was an inside joke. He let that shit out and now it's an outside, fuck-with-Mom joke. When he saw how much it affected me, he grabbed the reins on that sonuvabitch and has been riding it for days, driving me to the brink of madness. I hate that!

I know that my son is 18, and that he has doubtless been demonized by some whore of a girl, but there is nothing quite as frightening as the realization that your kids will and probably already have, acted the exact same way you did when you were their age.

So, daily I am asked to make a trip to Rite Aid. When I pale and get all sweaty, they laugh and tease me about how many illegitimate children my son is going to have because I won't buy him condoms. I asked him to stop. I ordered him to stop. Day after day, he continued.

I had no choice. I had to retaliate.

Now, in reality, I don't like to even think of my son with a girl. But giving me grief about being a grandma before I'm forty? Over the line. It had to stop.

On the way home last night, I ran into Walgreen's to pick up a prescription. While I was in there, I picked up something else. When we got home, my son announced that he and his friend were going walking.

"Not now. Go in the living room. We need to talk to you."

He gave me a puzzled look.

"Can my friend come? Or is it a private talk?"

"No, he can take part. I think that's actually best."

Another puzzled look and he complied. When he and his friend were seated on the sofa, hubby and I launched our attack.

"Honey, do you want to start, or should I?"

"Oh, babe, I think you should. I ... I can't."

The kid and his friend look at each other and the snickering begins. Bait taken.

With a grave look on his face, the hubby began.

"Son, I want to talk to you about condoms."

My son and his friend fell all over each other, gasping for air and high-fiving one another.

"Dude! I totally knew that's what this was! Oh, my God! We so pulled this off!" the kid laughed.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

"This is a serious matter. You need to be a little more receptive to what we're trying to do, here," I said.

He and his friend straightened themselves up and gave us their utmost, completely insincere attention.

"Mom, it was a joke. An inside-"

"No, no, I think it was more than that. I think it was your way of asking for information without actually asking--"

"Mom, honestly--"

"Shut it. And listen," I commanded. "Babe, continue," I nodded to the Hubby.

"Your mom and I have been talking and we really want you to be safe. We know things happen and you're human, you have all these urges and hormones and....stuff."

The boys begin squirming and looking thoroughly uncomfortable. Inside joke, indeed.

"So, to make sure of that," Chris says as he reaches into his pocket and my man-child begins to turn an alarming shade of red, "we picked you up some protection for you and your partner."

He drops a bunch of condoms in my child's lap.

As Chris and I sit smugly and watch, my son goes from amused, to embarrassed, to horrified, to flinging them off of his lap, and shrieking like a little girl, all in under two minutes. It was a thing of beauty. Truly.

"What the hell?! What are these? They're tiny! Jeez, did you pick them up at the Asian market? Holy crap! I can't believe you threw condoms in my lap! And I can't believe they're so little!"

I almost peed my pants. Twice. Hubby wasn't breathing. We were in ecstasy.

After the kid finally calmed down, he and his friend went for their walk. Were we done? Mission accomplished?

HAVE YOU TRULY LEARNED NOTHING ABOUT ME????

When the kid returned home, he went to his room. Hubby and I waited quietly in the living room.

More shrieking as he reached for his light switch.