I walked out to the garage one Saturday in 2003 and *something* had taken half of a leftover biscuit out of the trash can and put it in the corner.
So I kept an eye out and finally I see the little dude. Definitely a rat. So I call hubby and tell him there's a rat in the garage. Of course, he doesn't believe me. I guess he doesn't think I am smart enough to know the difference between a mouse and a rat, which of course I AM.
I go out and tell the little guy that he really needs to get out of there and go somewhere else because if my husband comes home and sees him, he's a goner. He just looks at me. Not scared, not running, just listening to me. Well, of course I think that is just too cute for words, so I keep talking to him. I can't imagine what the neighbors would think if saw me in there talking to a rat - the garage door was open. Unhindered by this thought, I keep talking to him, coaxing him.
Finally, he ventures out toward me a little as I am baby-talking to him. Unbelievable! So I get a box from a UPS package I'd received and tell him to get in the box - I calmly explain, as if he understands every word I say, that he can't stay here.
The little fellow actually GETS IN THE BOX! Now what do I do with him? So I carry him out to the ditch and let him out and he just looks up at me, twitches his little nose and heads back up the hill to the garage like a bullet. Little bugger beat me back! Obviously, it is at this point I realize that he is smarter than I am.
When hubby gets home, I tell him the story of how I talked to him and told him to get in the box and how he actually did it and surprise surprise! He didn't freaking believe me! Instead of standing there and demanding to know what I EVER did to make him think I just make up random crap all willy-nilly, I took his arm and led him back into the garage.
I mean seriously! When he swore up and down he saw a monkey on our front porch I didn't question HIM or tell him it was probably a raccoon, I started trying to come up with possible explanations as to WHY there was a monkey on our porch. (Turns out, someone's pet monkey had gotten out - there was a write-up in the local paper the following week about it.) Arrghhh! Men! But I digress.
I talked to the rat, who was back in his corner, coaxed him, did the baby talk thing...but the whole time dear husband felt the need to point out (loudly in his deep voice) that he believes I've gone off my nut. He is impressed though, that I've correctly identified the species and it is, in fact, a rat. (Gee, thanks.) I tell him to shut up and back away and when he finally does, here comes the rat, following my voice. So I get the box and tell him (in baby talk, of course - it's the only way I know how to talk to a strange rat) to get in the box and thankfully, HE DOES! Well let me tell you...THAT shut dear husband up. I'd like to say he never doubted me again, but we all know that's not bloody likely. I think it's something to do with the Y chromosome.
I went and bought him a cage and everything! I was then definitely convinced he was someone's escaped pet, so I put up flyers, but nothing. The young woman down the street wanted him for her kids, so I obliged. I mean really, what am I going to do with a pet rat? She still has him as far as I know. Well, that was 8 years ago. Wonder how long rats live?
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