I live in a condo (I like to say condo because sounds sophisticated as opposed to the apartments in the complex I live in are individually owned but an apartment is an apartment is an apartment) that is on a bayou (also a nicer way of saying a gigantic ditch). With a bayou comes a multitude of various rodents. So a night about a year ago, I was sitting on the sofa, with my laptop actually on my lap, watching tv while I took a class online (you say irresponsible, I say multitasking).
So I hear this screach coming from the kitchen, and I do have a cat, but this was not a cat noise.
Here is a very sad sketch of my condo, so you can have an idea:
I never said I was an artist.
Call it instinct, I don't know, but I jumped on the sofa, and hopped over to the love seat and lean over to see what's in the kitchen. A RAT, NOT A MOUSE, BUT A RAT, runs over to around the kitchen and over to the bookshelf in the dining room!!!!! My cat is chasing after the rat, but my dumbass got the cat declawed to she would stop scratching the sofa. So I scream at the top of my lungs and come up with a plan. I will lean over, from the love seat, open the patio door, and the rat will run out and it will all be over. This would of course work, until the rat decided to run along the patio door, straight at me, and I thought I would fall onto the rat as it was running past me. And every time the rat moves, I scream, so now, any minute, the cops would show up because a neighbor called them because someone was obviously murdering me.
Well, the rat runs past me and under the big sofa, with my cat pacing the top of the sofa, waiting to pounce, which will result in absolutely nothing because she has no claws. I look over to the bedroom and see that the door to the hall that goes to the bedroom and bathroom is open, and if this rat goes into the bedroom, who knows what the hell this rat will get into and it will never be found again (Yes, I know that was a runon sentence, but this how my mind was running at the time). I lean over, open the patio door, race to the hall door, close it, open the front door, and race back to the love seat, all while thinking, "Why don't have a boyfriend?!?! Why don't I have a boyfriend?!?! If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't have to deal with this!! Why did I declaw my cat?! This is all my mom's fault, because she made me get the cat declawed!!!".
The rat runs out from under my sofa, through my purse that was on the floor (my thought = "that purse will immediately be thrown in the trash"), runs for the bedroom(my thought = "thank God I closed the door"). Of course the damn thing doesn't run out the front door like I graciously had opened for it. No. It runs straight at me again (me = more screams) and runs out of the patio door!!! Yay!!!! Thank God!! I close the door, as I am still standing on the love seat, and go sit on the sofa.
My heart is racing. Adrenaline is pumping, and I call everyone I know to tell them what just happened. Know what didn't happen??? The cops never showed up. So now I know my neighbors suck, and won't call the cops no matter how much I scream, and my cat will eat my dead rotting body.
