The weather has turned, which means, in this old house, the pitter patter of little feet. Unfortunately, these little feet come pitter-pattering with tails and fur and the ability to piddle at every step and leave little black doodies all over the kitchen drawers. And holes in my roiboos bag… At least they’re predictable; they almost always come into the kitchen from the same spot, no matter how much steel wool I jam into every crevice.
It could be worse. It could be rats. It could be hamsters. (No, seriously: when we moved in, the house had been vacant for over six months, and apparently, the people before had left behind their hamster, which had kind of gone feral. I found it when it took bites out of the avocados on the counter. Hamsters can climb, apparently…)
Especially when vermin come into my house, these are the days I miss my baby.
a muscular whip
merciless and swift striking
evicts rodent thieves