There's a Rat in the Basement What Am I Gonna Do?

We have a rodent in our basement and, judging by the size of the shit he leaves behind, it's a rat. This sucks on many different fronts, namely that the basement is where all of our extra food items are stored (luckily in a metal, locked cabinet) and it's a place where I do laundry on a daily basis.

It's pretty gross, too, because I'm finding rat shit on top of the washing machine every day and it makes my skin crawl, wondering where the fucker's hiding. Is he staring at me with his beady little eyes from the rafters? Behind the dryer? What if he curls up in the laundry basket among my socks and underwear? That's just fucking nasty.

This problem just makes me mourn the loss of Aspen all the more. I mean, we still have our sweet Golden (whom Mr. Na rightfully nicknamed Fifi), but she's not Aspen. Aspen was the Mouse King.

When Aspen and I lived in Brentwood, we had a mouse move in from the 405 Freeway. He bore a hole in our sectional couch and made himself nice and comfy. Aspen was the first one to notice, especially because the mouse would sneak out in the middle of the night and poach kibble from his dog dish in the kitchen.

Aspen used to piss me off whenever he'd push something under the couch--which was on a daily basis. Our apartment had hardwood floors and the couch was just high enough off the ground for him to slip dog cookies, bones and toys underneath. He'd sit there and bark at me until I lifted up the couch so he could retrieve his prize. Sometimes I'd look and find absolutely nothing under there, but he'd remain relentless until I'd lift the couch up high enough for him to crawl completely underneath and find a microscopic piece of dog biscuit.

So I started yelling at him for taking his kibble and burying it underneath the couch. He wasn't a messy eater so I wondered why he took on this new habit of dragging kibble out from the kitchen to bury it all the way in the livingroom.

I found the hole when I went to vacuum the floor behind the couch. It was pretty big and I knew right away it came from something other than my dog. A mixture of mouse shit and kibble lay on the floor beside it.

I didn't know what to do at first, so I went to the store and looked at different mousetraps, and settled on glue traps, not really thinking about the consequences.

My bedroom was a loft above the living room and sometime in the middle of the night, Aspen bolted off the bed and ran down the stairs, barking like mad. When I turned on the lights, I saw the mouse--the little bastard--stuck on the glue pad and trying to break loose. Unfortunately, he dragged the glue pad over to the floor lamp and somehow managed to get the cord stuck on to the pad as well.

The three of us looked at each other, not knowing what to do. It was an awkward moment. Finally, I took a broom from out of a closet and I went over to the mouse and said,

"Alright, look, I'll make a deal with you. I'll let you loose outside if you swear to me that you and your homies NEVER come back. Got it?"

The mouse swore at me in his mouse language and I somehow managed to get the electrical cord free from the glue pad with the broom. I then slid the glue pad with the cursing mouse across the room and out on to the patio. The little guy only had one paw stuck on the glue pad, so I figured he still had a fighting chance. He'd either be known in his circle as a hero or a gimp--but either way, he was free.

After that, I never underestimated Aspen's ability to be a good watch dog. If he was still alive today, he'd be cleaning house. As much as I love Fifi, she's a priss and won't go down the basement steps unless we make her. Meantime, we're stuck with the rat snuggling in my gym socks.