Rats

I'm going to take you for a ride on a little something I like to call the honesty train. As most of you know, I take good care of my apartment, and save for the 65 pound mammal that sleeps in my bed, my house is relatively pest free. So imagine my surprise when I opened the cabinet under the sink last night to find that something had jumped into my trash can and shredded its contents. HAHAHAHAHA!!!

Now, when I see something that is so shocking I can't even wrap my head around it, I do this little thing called massive denial and pretend it didn't happen until it happens again, in which case I panic. So I emptied the contents of the trash, put a new bag in, closed the cabinet and hoped for the best.

Not five minutes go by before I hear something thumping around inside again, something so big it actually knocks over several spray bottles of cleaning product. Jesus H. Christ.

I had plans to meet my friends around the corner so I did what any responsible person would do. I put a barstool up against the cabinet, kissed my dog on the head and hoped those rabies shots worked. See you later, I'm getting shit canned.

My friends had some very creative suggestions as to what I should do, including coaxing it out and then beating it over the head with that non-existent hammer I keep around the house. Let me explain one thing- under my sink there is one hole in the wall, big enough for a medium sized cat to crawl through, thanks to an axe the FDNY used 6 years ago to see if the fire next to my building had spread through the walls. I've never patched it up, and I never had to. So clearly what I needed to do was just cover it up.

And that's what I did. When I got home, I threw the cabinet door open with one hand as I grabbed the barstool I had wedged in front of it with the other, in full lion tamer stance, ready to face my foe.

Luckily there was nothing there and I patched up the hole temporarily with duct tape.

It was probably just this.