When I get home, I don’t wait to call Capable George. I leave a message on the after-hours voicemail, and ask him to come retrieve the poison as soon as possible. I say that I understand the check I wrote is for services already rendered; I say that I found him wonderfully knowledgable about rodents’ fecal matter; and I apologize a few times more than necessary after I realize the fecal matter comment was completely awkward if not altogether unnecessary. I hang up the phone.
This is just another one of those things we’ve manufactured that there is no solution for. Poison you can’t really undo.
Out in the yard, the corner of the house has wiring that hangs down, and the rats use this wire as transport from high ground to low. I’ve often thought of smothering Vaseline along the length of their transport wire, just for sport.
Except for the typical soundscape of the city’s aggression and traffic that creeps in from time to time, it’s unusually quiet in the yard tonight.
I wonder what the rats are doing.
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Current Sh*t 