Rats! (Literally!)

(With a nod to Craig here, for the reminder to only say literally when we mean it.)

I don't really "do" rodents - especially not those of the larger variety. When Jill and I moved into the parsonage, it was overrun by mice (and the occasional rat). Brave mice, bold mice, friendly mice - but now, thank God and thank our cats, dead mice.

Recently, though, I have had two very memorable rodent run-in's. About a week ago I was working in a finished basement, removing ceiling tiles as I installed a new circuit for a microwave. Something fell in front of my face, off of one of the tiles. As I brushed aside the debris, I suddenly realized I was brushing aside a Fossilized Rat. No kidding, the thing was in one piece, even as it hit the floor. Probably eight inches long, plus a tail, it was a remarkably complete skeleton. The homeowner, a Bedford dentist, seemed appalled that I almost took it home to get a picture to post on my blog - sorry friends, I decided I didn't want it in my van all day! I, of course, called home to tell Jill of my adventures. Chloe, our three-year old daughter, was asking for the rest of the day whether Daddy still had a rat on his head - she was quite concerned, bless her heart.

And then today I was working at a customer's house, right by their floor to ceiling window, when I saw the biggest rat-looking-thing I'd ever seen scurry across the walkway about eight feet away. I thought maybe it was a ferret, but it turns out it was a fisher. They had heard it scream the other day, so were not surprised. I've been a little jumpy all day long, afraid it might be tracking me. I told Jill we were locking the doors tonight. My lovely wife assured me that fisher cats don't open doors, but then again she didn't see this guy. He wanted to eat me for lunch.

I definitely should've been an accountant or something safe like that. No rats, no fisher cats - just numbers. If anybody needs me, I'll be under my bed behind locked doors brushing up on my accounting skills.