Perhaps because the Sicilian dislikes/fears snakes, spiders, rats, and other vermin as much as I do he has developed selective hearing and vision. While I can see evidence of these little pests inside and outside our house, he seems oblivious to them. (Correction, he did say he saw a rat at the bird feeder. I think this was said so I would remove the feeder since he is not fond of birds. )
I never saw any rats at the feeder, but did discover a fat black rat dead in our swimming pool one morning. Perhaps Spot chased it there and it died of exhaustion trying to get out, or maybe it was on a suicide mission. Either way I was not happy about a rat that close to our home.
Several days later when I went into the garage to fetch my plastic container of bird seed, I saw that the hinge had been gnawed off by some rodent. I declared war.
My solution was traps, baits, or even grenades. The Sicilian opted to go pacifist and put a heavy wrench on the top of the bird seed container. So much for passivism. The varmint knocked the wrench off the container and gnawed off the other side of the lid. I brought the container into the house and put my finger on the Nuclear War button.
The Sicilian moved to terror threat red at my urging. We set a T-rex trap, baited with peanut butter in the garage for a week. Nada, zip, zilch. Nothing took the bait.He moved his terror threat back to green. Mine remained on orange.
The next week as the Sicilian slept, I heard faint tap dancing in the attic above our bed. The dancing never started until Spot the Wonder Dog had given up barking for the night. By then, the Sicilian had been in dreamland for more than an hour. Several nights I woke him to listen, but the attic varmint always became quiet. Finally, one night when the varmint was performing an Irish Step Dance the Sicilian heard the noise.
“I’ll set a trap there tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow? Are you nuts. I don’t want to sleep with vermin in the house another night?”
“I’m tired. I’ll do it tomorrow.” He returned to his soft snoring while I lay awake listening, fearing that at any minute a Godzilla-like rodent would fall through the ceiling and kill me.
The next night he set the trap. Bedtime bought a short attic tap dance followed by two loud noises. “I got it. Now go to sleep,” the Sicilian said.
“No, I want to know what we caught. Go up and see what it is,” I said.
“I’m asleep. I’ll get it tomorrow,” he replied.
Go get it please,” I begged.
“No. If you want to see what it is, you go up there.”
“I’m afraid. What if it is not dead. It might leap up and bite me. We don’t even know what’s up there. It could be a monster.”
“Go to sleep.”
End of discussion. I read into the wee hours. No blood dripped through the ceiling. I’d been spared.
The next morning the Sicilian announced,”The trap was sprung, but there was nothing in it. The varmint knocked the trap off the ledge and it hit the floor. That’s what made all the noise. Don’t worry, I’ll catch the bastard tonight.” He shifted into his High Red alert. Determined not to be outwitted.
That night when the trap snapped, he went into the attic without my asking. I followed closely behind him. A large rat was trying to free itself from the jaws of the T-Rex. “I’ll toss it out tomorrow,” he said .”It’s not dead yet.”
I suffered another night of terror. Rat Ghosts haunted my dreams.
A dull THUD in the garbage can the next morning ended the tragic life of Mr. or Mrs. rat.
Days later the Roach man (our bug exterminator not the seller of funny cigarettes) came to our house. A Roof Rat he announced. Good grief what next?