It was roughly two weeks ago when my room was first visited by an intruder. I was staying up late waiting to skype with the parents and not getting through. Blearily tired, my eyes were almost half-shut. Suddenly, my eye caught some movement and I looked towards the door. I thought a small dog was squeezing underneath the crack under the door. The biggest rat I have ever seen - in real life or television - was squeezing his bulge of fat underneath the door. Because of his girth, he entered the room a good three seconds before his belly did, which seemed to snap forward like an elastic propelling the rat underneath my bed. I had NO idea what to think, as I just stared at the empty space where the rat had entered. I cautiously peered behind my bed, hoping that maybe I was hallucinating because of how tired I was. Nope! There was a thick, leathery tail with grandmother-mole-hairs covering it, twitching back and forth like a snake.
What the hell do I do now?! I thought. My mind went through many scenarios and I admit to looking around the apartment briefly for ways of fashioning a spear, Lord of the Flies style. I figured that my best bet of not getting knifed myself by this chubby bruiser, was to chase it from whence it came, back into the hallway. Now how to do that?
Perhaps inspired by the repetoire of the Ugandan Police Services, my mind wandered to tear gas. I found my aerosol air-freshener in the washroom and sprayed it underneath the bed, in the general direction of Splinter. It took a few minutes, but eventually the hairy tub had enough and came running out of the bed and actually made a running leap at me, with its four claws extended in my direction, before disappearing, first underneath, and finally, inside, my couch, as it discovered a hole on the underside. Once I had blocked off any possibility of backtracking into the bedroom, I became quite confused at first, because the rat had seemingly disappeared from the room. However, I quickly discovered the whole and saw the comical bulge moving underneath the lining. I proceeded to lift the couch onto its end and poke at the bulge with my foot, playing a late-night version of "whack-a-rat," where no player is a winner.
The final round occurred when it ran behind my fridge and buried itself deep inside the wiring. The fridge was conveniently the same width as the door, so I had a brain-storm: why don't I drag the fridge to the door and force the rat back into the hallway. Carefull lifting the fridge, I did just that ... and after drumming out a pattern on the fridge, Splinter took off down the hallway. I plugged up the door-jam with a towel and went to bed.
It took a week for Splinter to send his friends, but eventually a little flash of movement out of the corner of my eye became something I got used to. I went from seeing every several days, to constantly either seeing them, or their signature poop. Despite always plugging up the hole in the evening, they would sneak in during the day, or if I had plugged the hole during the day, the towel was removed by a well-intention-ed cleaning staff. I also suspected that they were parachuting in, or climbing down the drapes.
I was going rat-shit crazy! Every sound of movement - such as the wind moving the drapes - would make me bolt upright. One time, my heartbeat being reflected back through the mattress made me think that I had more little nemeses jumping up into my mattress the way Splinter I had done so on that first evening battle.
My final straw was after I had a few friends over and we left a slight mess on the counter. During the night, I sounded sounds of excitement as furry little ninjas gamboled throughout the room, depositing excrement everywhere. I also noticed that I started speaking about the rats on a more personal basis, and was starting to give them nick-names, personality traits, and was - seriously - considering naming them after my trio of Canadian nursing friends (if they met certain personality traits or tendencies). I did not want to be the Rat-Man! Enough was enough!
I lodged another complaint with the building, but decided to take matters into my hand. Staring around my apartment at various instruments which I might turn into a way of keeping the rats out, I noticed the roll of duct-tape I had packed along in my luggage. Finally, the solution appeared before me as a big Canadian light bulb appeared over my head. While the rats had demonstrated the adaptability to push the towel from underneath the door (earlier that evening, I had watched this happen) they would not be able to do push something firmly attached with Duct-Tape. I was quite giddy taping up the contraption to the bottom of the door, letting out the occasional cheerful expletive, chuckle and small monologue on how Canadian Farmers will always reign supreme in the war on Kampala rats. It probably wasn't one of my most endearing moments.
However, my sanity somewhat returned, I am pleased to say that I have not sighted a rat for five days now. Let us hope they are not circling the wagons for a more brilliant attack...
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