...quite literally. About 2 months ago, a pregnant rat moved into my apartment. At the time I did not know it was a she, let alone pregnant. How I found that out may well disgust some people, but if you enjoy a good rat story, read on.
The first sign of course was a bit of rat poo. I diligently cleaned it up and made a mental note to watch out for other signs of the offender. A bit more poo appeared in the kitchen and the first sighting came shortly thereafter. I was in the kitchen one day using some strong vinegar to clean something. I turned towards the fridge and a huge rat was sitting beside it looking at me. I discovered two things; rats don't like vinegar, and floor tiles change colour when you throw vinegar at rats.
The next sighting came at about 1am one morning. I was watching the end of a Lord of the Rings marathon 3 movie screening on tele when I had that feeling of being watched. Poking around the corner of a sofa was the bewhiskered face of the she-rat.
Now I have had the unfortunate experience of being caught in a rat colony migration in the past, so I have experienced the rather weird effect that I believe rats can exert on humans through their pheromones. The effect is that despite your disgust, they make you feel sympathetic towards them. In the case of the colony, it kept me calm so I didn't make a move that would otherwise have resulted in being torn to shreds. With the mother rat, I felt great empathy for her. I realised that some kind of rat trickery was being visited upon me as I was torn between killing the reviled creature and providing a nurturing environment for it. I didn't know what to do, but like females the world over, I knew that if I held onto a broom, I would feel a lot better about the situation and everything would be alright.
It's amazing the empowerment that a broom holds. Once so protected, old fashioned human disgust rose to the fore and I chased the critter around my apartment. It ran into my bedroom. OH MY GOD!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO, NOT THE BEDROOM!!!! Feeling utterly violated, I was invigorated to protect my territory and proceeded in a broom-thumping frenzy to terrify the rat into retreating to the kitchen/bathroom/stairwell area. I could then shut the door to my living and bedroom areas. I was safe for the night.
The next day I ran into my downstairs neighbour. "Got a rat have you?" he asked. He had heard the manic thumping and presumed it was the beast his flatmate had chased out of their kitchen. Luckily, said flatmate had managed to kill it's mate so at least I was only contending with one. "It's a really big one, too," was his parting, cheery comment. Thanks for that.
The rat was now coming and going as it pleased as evidenced by the amount of poo I was now cleaning up. Why the hell it didn't just move out, I don't know as I was making life very difficult for it. Tiled floors are ideal when hosing out the kitchen and especially under the refrigerator, and the broom was getting a regular work out. However, it became clear that I needed stronger eradication measures than broom and hose.
Now here in Cambodia, you can't just go and buy rat poison, probably because as soon as anyone slighted anyone else they'd have their beer spiked with it. Instead they have non-toxic glue traps. The idea is that the pesky critter gets so stuck that in it's struggle to get out, it literally tears itself apart. Colleagues have reported that their unwanted mice have indeed met their ends in this manner, and suggested strongly that I didn't resort to such a medieval weapon. It sounded perfect.
So in the kitchen, I put down a glue trap with a bit of cheese in the middle as a tempter. 1am (again), I wake to a thumping and a banging from the kitchen. I rush out expecting to see my prize stuck to gluey cardboard. All that was left was a shredded trap and glue everywhere. Despite the rat's unfortunate success in getting out of the trap, I felt that it would still be a strong enough negative reinforcement to deter it from returning. How wrong/naive/stupid I was.
A few nights later, again at about 1am, something woke me up. The building was quiet, my next-door neighbour wasn't playing any music, but something had pulled me out of a deep sleep. My rat radar kicked in, and I just knew. I picked up the broom, which by now accompanied me where ever I went in my flat, and opened the door to the uncontrolled area. I flicked on a light. No sign. My nose was telling me a different story though. By this stage, I had become extremely sensitive to Eau de Rat, and what my nose was telling me was that there was a rat under the shoe rack. The broom then suddenly found itself beating the crap out of the shoe rack, which was beaten with such effect that the rat was forced out. By focusing on the shoe rack, I am attempting to deny any responsibility for the resulting effect on the rat, which is detailed next (warning: disturbing content ahead).
The rat was in the process of giving birth, with a young 'un on it's way out of its back end. It crabbed and heaved its way to cover under the fridge. I dragged the poor shoe rack into the safe zone & closed the door on the problem. The light of day would be too soon enough to deal with this curve ball.
Morning came with the resolution that the rat bitch was going to move out of my apartment or die. I hosed under the fridge again. Nothing. With the shoe rack now in the safe zone, there was nowhere else she could hide. Relieved and a little mystified, I went downstairs on my way out to get on with my day. At the bottom of the stairs, outside the back of the filthy local restaurant which serves as mother ship for the building's rats, was the result of my bashing up the shoe rack/rat: an amniotic sac full of dead rat babies.
Did that make me 'the exterminator' or 'the terminator'? Whatever, I was now sure that was the end of that. Been there before though, hadn't I?
A couple of days later I was heading to Vietnam for a spot of shopping. Just in case, I bought three big, strong glue traps to cover one of the steps on my stairs. I returned with some trepidation and a little of excitement. Would there be a stuck and dead rat? A stuck and alive rat? No sign of any rat action? Could I have predicted the mystery that presented itself?
Two of the traps had disappeared and the third was trashed, upside down and stuck to a stair. I checked the unsecured zone, but no rat or glue traps. How the hell did the rat get out with two one foot square pieces of cardboard stuck to it?. Did it snow-shoe under the gap below the door with the cardboard pieces stuck to its feet, as one friend suggested, or had it become a high-sided rat, with cardboard stuck vertically to it, and slipped under sideways? My downstairs neighbours saw and heard nothing. I could only presume it made it's way back to the mother ship, where the rather unpleasant owner had to deal with it.
Or was that just hoping? Surely, surely the war was over. I had won, hadn't I, even though this was a rat of unusual persistence and determination?
Two days later I came home from work earlier than usual. Now, it's quite a procedure to get inside. I have to unlock my light switch at the entrance, turn it on, relock the box and proceed to the first of the locked inner gates which is beside the mother ship, and leads into the stairwell. This area is dim and dingy in an Eastern European shabby filthy way, rather than a shabby chic way. As my hand went to the gate something large and feral went on the attack. My god, it was big! In terror I ran back out of the building and into the safety of the light. Shaking and almost in tears, I didn't know what to do. Everyone who could have helped was working. Then I remembered my leasing agent. I called him. By this point, I had lost my last shreds of composure and my bawling guilted him into coming to help me immediately. He assumed the role of brave (but frightened) warrior and escorted me up to my apartment, which did result in better lighting and a rat proof door. And what was the big feral creature that attacked me? A high-sided rat, perhaps...
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