Hunting season.

Okay.

It's 4:00 in the morning, and I've just destroyed a 75 dollar coffemaker.

Basically, what happened is that my parents and the rest of the people who are at my house currently decided to take a trip to Niagra Falls on Sunday. For several reasons ( one being work, another being that once you go with people your own age, you can't go again with family ) I stayed home. This is no big deal; in fact, this is one of my favorite summer pasttimes: when the folks leave and I can chill in earnest.

I went to Blockbuster earlier today, stocked up on a whole bunch of movies. Then I went shopping; it's the first opportunity since I got home, what with my arrival being smack in the middle of the Nine Days. I went to the restaurant and got the required jumbomassivedoublesized order of chicken wings (assorted flavors; no coleslaw, curly fries ), and topped that off with a bag of popcorn and a tub of sorbet. Finally, after the afternoon prayers, I was ready to vegetate.

Chasing Amy, Taxi Driver, and the complete first season of Entourage later, and I get up to strech my legs. I walk around my deathly quiet house, and sit down in the office to check my e-mail. Suddenly, I hear an extremely loud noise coming from the kitchen. I can't tell what it is, but it sounds like someone riffling around in there. I pick up a paperweight from the desk and stealthily creep toward the kitchen, barefoot. The whole time, I've got my arms out in front of me in some bogus karate pose and I swear I can hear my heartbeat.

I poke my head into the kitchen: no one there.

Hnh. I go back to the den and pop in This Is Spinal tap ( the fourth time, actually. I know, it's sad.) and settle down. I'm not into it for even fifteen mintes before I hear the noise again. This time, i don't hesitate. I fly into the room, only to see an enormous rat sitting in the middle of the kitchen, chowing down on something. It squeaks, turns and flees. I yelp, turn and flee.

After my heart settles ( not that I was scared, it just surprised me...really) down, I weigh my options. Not too many to speak of. It's 3:25, and I couldn't call an exterminator even if I had a number. And yet, I can't stand leaving the kitchen to it's mercy. It could get into all the food, and I don't even know where the hole is.

And so, in one of those early morning/ lack of sleep combinations that bears the most outrageous, yet lush fruit I decide that I, jewmaican20, will track it down, and kill it, if necessary.

I turn of most of the lights in the kitchen and hunker down, waiting, watching, stalking my prey. The paper weight is too akward; my clogs will do the trick better, I decide. I wait.

3:36 - No sign yet. I'm keen, wired, aware of my surroundings. I'm able to see every inch of the kitchen from my vantage point, which is being huddled in the corner.

3:39 - I'm getting bored very quickly. and, my legs are starting to cramp from crouching. Don'y know how much longer I can wait...

Finally, at about 3:45, he comes out again. I rise slowly. Hefting one of my solid, hard rubber soled clogs, I carefully take aim. I rear back with my throwing arm, breathe out, and let fly with the clog.

The throw goes embarassingly wild, a line drive when it should have been a downward pitch. It soars gracefully through the air, connecting with the dish rack next to the sink. The rack in turn flips over, knocking the ( almost ) brand new, seventy five dollar Gevalia deluxe coffemaker off the counter, onto the floor, where it promptly breaks into many pieces.

The rat got away, too. Little thing is probably cracking itself up somewhere in the walls...

So. I cleaned up the wreckage, and now I have to replace the coffemaker and toivel it before my parents get back tomorrow afternoon. Not because I'm worried they'll be pissed off, although there's that, too. Mainly because when my brother here's about this, I'll never live it down.

Originally posted Monday, 7 August 2006