Welfare Warriors

Summer 2007

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  Summer 2007

Rat Day Afternoon

The first thing I do when I awake each morning is raise the window blind next to my bed. This gives the Earth and me first sight on how we’re both doing. There’s always been a need inside me to get next to all of nature’s elements. It’s the medicine of choice to aid in whatever form of recovery is needed.

Because of various health problems sometimes my only option is to stay in bed. Not being able to walk outside whenever I want creates a depression like no hardship I’ve yet to encounter. When this became harder to achieve, at times, I brought bits of nature within eye's reach and created a “Comfort Corner.”

With privacy in mind I asked my older brother and our son’s to build a wooden fence to shield me from the neighbors' view. When it was complete we started placing different items on the fence.

The aid of the black walnut and maple tree was required. From these trees metal suet feeders were hung for the northern flickers and other woodpeckers. Mesh bags filled with thistle seeds swung freely from their branches to attract martins and goldfinches. A bluebird house was placed on the trunk of the maple tree. So far, the only birds using it are sparrows.

Within view of my bed are three birdfeeders at various spots on the fence. One is on a shelf in the corner of the fence. My sons, Mark and Stacey, built the shelf and bought me a large wooden feeder to place on it. The feeders attract a wide variety of birds. They are like people. Some are welcome guests. Others are noisy nuisances that you can't wait until they leave. The pigeons and starlings fall into the latter group. While the cardinals, bluejays, mourning doves and goldfinches turn my view into a downy rainbow.

I placed a squirrel feeder on the fence that holds dried cobs of corn. What a joke. It's not like the squirrels don't take over and eat more then their share of everything. One of them has a missing tail that probably occurred from a run-in with a neighborhood cat.

This winter, for the first time, three hawks have come by to hunt for food. I love it when they visit. They act like they own everything. For some time I’d been wishing for a hawk, and one-day I looked out and one was sitting on a fence post. It didn't even ruffle a feather while I took numerous pictures to show the family.

There is a large round thermometer that shows the temperature year round. I also have a rain catcher. It measures the amount of whatever is falling out of the sky: rain, sleet or snow. I want this information. I need this information. The gadgets are nice but the most accurate notification comes from observing the habits of the wildlife. When they start to feed heavily, you know there will be a weather change. This is particularly helpful during the winter season.

I spend countless periods of time watching the action that takes place in my private habitat, my Comfort Corner. It soothes and salves whatever cares need attention. It has been my one constant. My one constant until the unthinkable happened. The unthinkable made its presence known in the form of a rodent.

When I looked out the window one afternoon I thought, "There goes my eyesight deteriorating again." I put my glasses on to prove if this was another symptom of multiple sclerosis. No! The dreaded shape was exactly what I thought--- a rat! A rat the size of my killer dachshund, Willie. Perhaps it was a little smaller, but I’m on steroids and they can cause a number of distortions.

A rat was inside the corner birdfeeder. It was scaring the birds away, and worst of all it had invaded my Comfort Corner. Rats and I have a long history of hatred. Maybe I couldn't do anything about their invasion of every house I lived in as a child, but as an adult I could sure as hell take care of them. (Keep telling yourself--"This woman is on steroids.")

My first thought was to take my pocketknife from the stand by the bed and go out and stab it. The knife has a six-inch blade that locks in place when opened. My mother gave it to me for protection many years ago. While I was contemplating the knife, I picked up the camera and took about twenty pictures--validation for the household. The rat was so brazen that the camera’s non-stop flashing didn't slow its feeding. The time used for picture taking also gave me time to think up a new plan.

The rat wasn't leaving. If it wasn't leaving--it was mine. Safety and the potential of rat bites nibbled at the back of my brain. All right, I'd use a butcher knife. No, wait. I'd use my red cane and the small wastebasket next to my bed. I'd knock it into the little basket and finish it off with my cane. Little basket? No good. The large trash can in the kitchen might be safer. Okay. The red cane and the large trash can.

It would have been helpful if I could walk a little better. It would also be useful to have more physical strength. Mental strength was in over-drive so that might equal out the other two. Opening the laundry room door quietly was going to be a problem. The noise might make the rat run as soon as it heard me coming. I was saying prayers faster then a street corner preacher asking for a miracle that the rat wouldn't hear my approach. The next hurdle would be opening the privacy fence gate. It was a heavy creaking gate. With the aid of the cane I made it out to the gate. A sudden burst of strength helped lift and open the gate that had never opened without a lot of trouble. Steroids.

The rat and I saw each other at the same time. It started to haul ass along the top riser of the fence. When it reached a broken place in the board it was forced to turn back. With one “swift” step I made it to the fence. My plan to knock the rat into the can missed by about three feet. The rat jumped before I could swing the cane. What didn't miss was the business end of my cane coming down on its head as it hit the ground. Since I had diminished strength, I leaned on the handle to put added weight on my prey. When I thought it was safe, I bent down and picked up a piece of a 2x4 and finished it off. I used the cane to scoop the carcass into the can and carried it back inside the house.

Halfway through the kitchen the realization of what had occurred sunk in. Right! I know. Steroids. Every story about cornered rats, and people being rat-bit, hit me like a physical punch. "Judith? What the hell were you thinking about? Certainly not your health. Would you like a series of rabies shots to add to the rest of your problems? No indeed! I think I’ll just take the corpse back outside to the regular trash can.”

Geez, it was going to take some fast talking to explain this incident when family members returned home. Didn't I explain about my intense hatred of rats? I’d be double-dipped in damnation if a rat were going to invade one of my birdfeeders. At this point, laughter took over. I might be down physically, but the fighter was one helluva healthy woman. She who laughs alone can be just as hysterical as she cares to be.

When Sue and sons Steve and Mark came home from work, I told them what I had done. They wanted to see the dead rat. At least the boys did. Sue was aghast that I had taken such a chance. The boys were prouder of me than I could have ever imagined. Both of them asked me why I didn't use my pistol. As the one who is supposed to set good examples I told them, "You know you can't fire a gun inside the town limits. Also, at the angle the feeder is at, the bullet would have gone through the house next door." My gun? I could've used my gun!

They had me phone their brother Stacey and tell him the story. After listening, he asked me where the rat was. I said, “It’s outside in the trash can.” He asked me to have one of his brother’s get it and put it in the freezer in a plastic bag. It was hard to keep telling him "NO" through the laughter. "Please, Mom", he begged. "We'll get it mounted for you." This was not the reaction I thought I would receive. "Stop laughing Mom", he said. "We'll pay for it. It will be on a plaque that says “Mom's Rat 1994."

Right. I can picture it hanging on the living room wall with some of that overhead track lighting shining on it. I’ll be standing there grinning possum-like while all of the compliments bank up around my feet like an unexpected snowfall.

Is it bad grammar to use "sensible" and "steroids" in the same sentence? Sue has tried to teach me all of those helpful little hints that were overlooked in school. She has helped, but we both know I don't care diddily about most rules in life, much less the grammar kind. No, we wouldn't be hanging up a rat plaque. Not this time anyhow. But who knows what will happen the next time I'm chock full of steroids?

I'm still amazed at how much in awe my sons remain of my bravery. It enhanced their image of me as the toughest woman they know. When you raise three sons it doesn't hurt to have them see how capable and forceful women are. All women need to instill this idea in their sons. It would make a safer world for all of us.

Sue is glad that I turned down their "lovely" offer of objectionable d’art for the livingroom wall. She’s never quite sure what I will or won't think is a peachy keen idea. Some day a rodent trophy might be to my liking. You know steroids and all of those other untamed and untrained ways of looking at life.

Judith K. Witherow
www.jkwitherow.com