Rat rage

I’m thinking of something like Road Rage but rather than when driving, it occurs when there is a rat in the kitchen at 1:30am, noisily knocking down the cooking oil and the DOOM. I tried to turn over and go back to sleep: deal with it in the morning, but it clattered over some more pots and pans and sent my heart into palpitations again. I got out of bed, put my stomping boots on and went into the kitchen with a battle cry:
“Aaaaaaarh!”, when I saw it scaling the West face of the cooker in front of me.

I picked up the metal thing I’d used to supprise the last one and proceeded to beat merry hell out of my kitchen, destroying it piece by piece, just like DZ.

I was frantic, not wanting it to run behind the cooker and start the game of hide-and-seek. With great urgency, therefore, I beat the floor, my presure cooker, the kitchen door, the litter bin, etc. with this metal thing that once used to be part of something else. And the little bugger ran round my feet making me twist and turn in my big boots and boxer shorts.

Finally I clobbered it. It lay there on the floor with its legs stretched out akimbo as one would draw a cartoon of a dead rat. I stood, with my heart pounding, breathing deeply and slowly trying to regain a feeling of calm normality after the battle. Few things have ever made me feel like this. Fighting and killing an animal, even a small one like this, is a very emotionally exhausting experience.

And it was a small rat, not one of those as-big-as-a-cat ones you hear about, but just normal somewhat-larger-than-a-mouse size. I picked it up with a plastic bag and pushed it into an empty Skippy jar which I stood by the door to dispose of in the morning. I didn’t want to open the door in case any more came in.


  1. Lydia Says:

    🙂 Hi Just catching up with your exploits – been a bit out of the loop. Hope you are feeling ok now.

  2. Mark Says:

    Welcome back. I want you to read "Boys Are Stubborn" and tell me what you think from your perspective working in a boys school.

  3. Nikki Says:

    Hey Mark,
    just catching up with your exploits as well – is it my turn to write? if it is I apologize – been crazy busy with ‘things’ – ask Mithi, I’m exhausted with work… interested in the subject, but frustrated by my boss… I’m sure you know the story.
    I hope all is well with you – I’m looking forward to reading more of your stories

  4. Thaths Says:

    I am very sorry to hear your abt your prolems with the rodents of Tala Secretarial. I had some terrible experinces with them myself in that house. My solution was to keep the door of the store room (next to the kitchen) and the kitchen itself closed. I think the rats love the warmth of the cooker and take up living in the middle bit between the oven and the stove top.

    Best thing you can do is poison the louts. Make sure that you keep the poisoned bait as far away from the cooker as possible. After all, you don’t want the rat to die inside the cooker. I killed as many as three in one stroke once.

  5. Fede Says:


    these accounts are SO funny!! I mean, tragic somehow but I can imagine you banging the hell out of your kitchen. Cant’ you get mouse traps or poison? at least you’ll get to sleep. I can’t imagine if you had neighbours. they’ll be happy with all the noise!!

    miss u


  6. Mark Says:

    Good. I do my best to make them funny. But life is funny, don’t you think?

    My nearest neighbours are the Convent, about 200M away.

    Yes, there was poison in the house. When I told the story in the sfaff room the following day the deputy principal nodded scerenly as I was re-enacting my floor-bashing dance of the previous night.
    "Do you have the Fuko Kil I gave to you?", he asked quietly.
    "…", I nodded.
    His left hand passed to-and-fro over his right, "You could have spread the Fuko Kil on some bread, left it in the middle of the room, put out the lights and closed the door.", he said. "And come back in a few miniutes to find a dead rat".

    Of course he’s right. I could have deployed poison (though I had no bread nor other really suitable foodstuff in the house that night) but I didn’t think of it. The whole point of these stories is that the rats fill me with a kind of rage. Something I am not at all used to feeling. I wanted to smash the filthy fucker’s head in, though it shames me to say it. Perhaps, if this keeps happening, I’ll get used to the idea of rats in my kitchen, remain calm and Fuko-Kil them.

    Meanwhile Im thinking of ways to block off the chimney.

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