Baby steps

Well, I haven't said much about rats lately. I know, y'all come here daily seeking stories of the vermin you've come to know and love, and I've disappointed you. The truth is, there really isn't much to report. (ThankyouGod!) After the Incident with the Pantry in the Nighttime, the exterminator came, Jason laid some traps and plugged some holes, and all was quiet. He checks periodically to make sure the holes are still plugged--without telling me, cause I don't wanna know nothin' about no ratholes.

It's been two months since The Sighting. And it's only in the last couple of weeks that I've been able to go into the pantry at all. For the weeks before that, I either crammed the groceries I needed into the cupboards where the dishes are kept, or I sent the kids into the pantry for me. Yes! Here, I admit it. I sent my own children into the belly of the beast. I didn't even tell them of the danger therein.

A couple of weeks ago, when I needed something I started darting in there myself. I'd open the door and stand at the threshold. I'd quickly scan all the shelves. I found that my fists would clench involuntarily. Then, I'd take one big step in, grab what I needed and duck back out and shut the door.

Yes, this is ridiculous. Thank you for pointing that out, it's very helpful.

Last week, Jason was working on his laptop at the kitchen table and I needed to get something from the pantry. Except, I wasn't totally sure where it was, so my quick in-n-out technique wouldn't work. I opened the door and stood there. I flipped on the light. I stood some more. I walked in, and started gingerly poking around in there, looking for what I needed. It feels very silly to write this, but I'm being serious when I tell you that I could feel my heart beating faster the longer I was in there.

I could also feel Jason watching me. With amusement. I didn't even have to look at him to know that he was truly enjoying this moment. And then I knew that he was about to seize that moment. Without turning around, I stuck my hand out behind my back and pointed at him.

"Do NOT...do what you are thinking about doing!" I said. "What's that, babe?" he asked. "I know what you're thinking. You are waiting till I start to relax in here and then you're gonna make a loud noise or throw something or say boo. Don'teventhinkaboutit!"

He laughed. "Well, I did consider it. When is it gonna be okay to make jokes about this?" He has practiced what I know is, for him, a great deal of restraint. I told him he could make fun of me all he wants, but he is under no circumstances allowed to scare me. Or I will unleash the full might of my fury. Which is indeed terrifying. I'm like that little white bunny in Monty Python's Holy Grail.

Harmless and sweet, until you mess with me too much. Then, you best just curl into a little ball and wait for it to be over.

Okay, that's not really true. I just like sounding mean. Let's face it--anyone who won't go into her pantry for 6 weeks after seeing a rat in there can't be that tough.

So, let's sum up. Pantry: Clear so far. Kids: Often used as bait. Jason: The picture of restraint. Me: Quivering Mass/Potential ball of fury. I think that about covers it all.