As some of you know, I have been waging a quiet war against some Norwegian Roof Rats that have taken up residence under the slab of my back patio. Apparently the "Roof" part of the Norwegian Roof Rat name is a bit of a misnomer - or perhaps Norwegians can't tell up from down. Nomenclature aside, these rats had opened shop under my patio. I wonder if Randy Weaver was trying to scare his rats away by burying 13 year old girls under his patio.

Anyhow, a Roof Rat is truly a rat. Larger than a field mouse by about half, but not so large as a squirrel. Too bad, because the front part of their bodies are very squirrel-like - if they just had that bushy tail we'd have accommodated them nicely. As it is, a naked tail is as good as a death sentence here in America (land of the free -if you are cute).

It hasn't been much of a war so far. I did a couple of half-assed gassings every couple of weeks or so, the same kind of lackluster genocide we learned during the Clinton era. I was roundly criticized by my former peers (you know who you are, bastards). Chastised for not bringing my considerable arsenal into the mix. They wanted me to open up with shotguns and semi-automatic assault weapons in a clear display of technical superiority. "Nay" said I. I believed in "appropriate response" and wanted the situation to resolve itself.

The holes would stay covered for a few days, then open up again. As long as Keely wasn't seeing them, I decided to try and co-exist. I sat by one of the holes and tried to explain that as long as they wanted to be outside rats, I didn't mind them being around. I took their silence as consent and left it at that.

Give a rat an inch, and he'll take over your house. As you know, the weather has been chilly the last couple of days. It seems our friend Raticus is not an idiot. He saw I really don't use 800 sq. ft of my 1800 sq ft house and decided to take advantage of my heating it, but not occupying it.

I was in the Big Screen Room trying to explain to the dogs why they shouldn't drag their toys out in the rain and then haul rotting leaves inside. As I was lecturing them (Be-bop licking his penis and Boadicea chewing on my shoe) I saw Raticus walk across the room, not 3 feet behind them. Now Schnauzers were bred to be ratters, and in fact, young punk rats often have the silhouette of a schnauzer tattooed on their arms as a sign of ferocity (much like our punks have skulls on their arms, get it?) I was certain my dogs would quickly resolve the situation and I could go back to pretending my house was sacrosanct.

Be-bop couldn't be bothered to look up from his task and Boadicea had discovered that by biting really hard, she could tear into the leather of my shoe. It appears that by the 21st century, the ratting instinct has been bred out of the miniature schnauzer breed. As revelations go, this wasn't much of a shocker. Be-bop had to be taught how to walk up stairs fer x's sake. And Boadicea is his daughter, so I really can't expect too much out of her.

I placed traps in the Great Room. Mouse traps, because I am too cheap to buy real rat traps, but I put out traps all the same. Baited with Jiffy, the Cadillac of peanut butter. If there was a human trap baited with peanut butter, I am certain I would be the first one caught in it - neck snapped but with a dreamy, creamy smile on my face.

Not an hour had gone by before I checked the traps. One had been tripped and there was a rat caught by the arm in the other. Still alive and not too pleased. I got out the Daisy Competition Class Pellet Gun (.177 cal, 420fps on a single pump. Accurate like a mo fo, lemme tell you) and popped it in the head, execution style. Left a dent in my furnace and rat blood on the linoleum.

I baggied this guy and was a little troubled that it look lighter in color than the one I had seen earlier. I reset the traps and went to bed, where I was tormented by thoughts of some poor rat just trying to get warm. I even made up a song, sung to the tune of "Silent Night":
Oh, Raticus
Trying to get warm
Now you are dead,
Pellet in the head.

Keely was not impressed.

At about midnight, I got up and checked the traps again. As I entered the room, I saw a rat staggering about over by the bookcase. I backed out, loaded the pellet pistol, and eased back in. This Raticus was across the room moving erratically. I lined up and fired, he took a step or two and fell over, shot through the throat, bleeding his little rat arterial blood onto my carpet. One trap had been sprung, so I figured he had been clocked pretty good, and was trying to recover when I came upon him. Baggied and tossed - case closed, but I reset the traps just to make sure.

(by the way, that was a damn good shot. 15 feet easy, low light conditions. I still gots it, baby)

At about 1:30, I checked the traps again, and this time there was another dead Raticus. It was a classic "Mousetrap" pose, body straight on to the trap, snap wire neatly placed behind the head, tongue slightly protruding and eyes bulging. Baggied and tossed. Adios, compadre. Via con dios.

Traps will continue to be placed. The pellet gun is on standby. The bloodbath will continue. . . .

Part 2: Boadicea earns her keep.

It was one of those feelings. Like back in 'Nam, when we were on deep recon and you could feel the VC in the air. You just knew. And then you acted.

Keely had gone in to the Big Screen Room and was folding the laundry. I came in and folded the sheets (so I can tell the judge "Your Honor, I shared in the household chores, I should share in any money she makes after the divorce"). Be-Bop, that blessed, beautiful, hopelessly developmentally stunted x-show dog, went over to the couch and sniffed. he snapped to, nose down and tail (well, stub, since Schnauzers are cropped) up and quivering. Keely said "I think Raticus is under there." To be honest, Keely has been seeing rats in her Cheerios since the last episode. Still. Be-Bop was showing an unusual amount of attention for a dog that suffers from attention deficit disorder.

I went over and hoisted up one end of the couch - this is an 8 foot long hide-away bed, so I felt pretty manly as I held the end up over my shoulders. "See any rats?" I asked (grunting slightly.)

Unfortunately, there were rats under there, two of them. And they knew something bad was going to happen. One took off and Keely squeaked as she jumped in front of the known escape route. We thought she was too late to stop him, and concentrated on the other. The dogs had freaked and tried to sniff it to tell if it was Friend or Foe. Raticus, no fool himself, used the opportunity to scoot behind the bookcase, getting close to the furnace enclosure and freedom. Keely blocked him, though.

There he was, in the 1" space behind a bookcase stuffed to the max with books. An immovable object, it might as well have been welded to the foundation of the house. I got three things: A flashlight that had been given to me by Keely's grandmother - a nice 3 D cell Mag-light that cast a beam so bright it causes things to catch fire; A full sized fighting sword from China - you never know when these things will come in handy; and the Daisy 477 Competition Pellet Pistol - my preferred weapon for indoor rodent combat.

The bookshelf is 6' wide and Raticus was down at Keely's end. The sword couldn't reach and the grips on the air pistol wouldn't let me get a good bead on Raticus. I gave Keely the sword and she scared the little guy towards me. I waited until the angle was right and I wouldn't punch a hole in the bookcase or in the wall and fired. Raticus jumped and began screaming.

While I don't actually speak rat, I am pretty sure he said "EFF ME! What the HELL are you THNIKING? All I wanted was a warm place to have 57 children and you SHOT ME! BASTARD!"

He ran, still squeaking and screaming, into the room. Keely blocked his escape and he dashed over by the washer/dryer. Boadicea figured she had done enough sniffing and gave him a chomp. Then another. Then she snatched him up and held him in her mouth, tail dangling on one side, bugged eyes on the other.

I pried him from her jaws and congratulated her loudly while calling for a baggie. Keely brought me a freaking garbage bag (OK, it was a 1 gallon bag, but still, WAY too big for the job) and I hauled the limp, chewed up body outside.

We decided to award Boadicea the kill and Be-Bop the assist, since he found the rats in the first place.

When I came back in from interring Raticus in the garbage, Keely said she thought Boadicea was on to another rat under one of the easy chairs. "Great." I thought "Now Keely AND Boadicea are going to be seeing rats in their Cheerios." Keely said she had tipped the chair and looked under it, but Boadicea was still excited. I got the flashlight and tipped the chair back, and thought there was nothing under there. Just as I lowered it back down, Raticus jumped out from a gap by the seat and took off.

He ran behind the OTHER set of bookcases (we read a lot - sue me) and back to the couch. I lifted it up and he ran back to the bookcases again, where Keely went to the far end and blocked him, I got the pellet pistol. This bookcase is a good 4 inches away from the wall, so there was no problem getting a bead on him. I lined up and fired. Mercifully, this one was quiet as he took 45 seconds to die his horrible little rat death. Legs twitching, rolling from side to side, eyes rolling in agony. I had to get a stick to pull him out from behind the bookcase.

Bagged and tagged, Boadicea was going to get just an assist on this one, but I went ahead and gave her credit anyhow. Raticus' beady little eyes flashing in the horror of approaching death will haunt me long enough.

The important part of this story is that the rats are learning. There has been a loaded trap waiting by their access hole since the first episode. They have learned to avoid Jiffy. Now come on, THAT takes some doing. Then, the second Raticus was actually waiting us out, hiding up in the workings of the chair while we killed his best friend. Then he kept it together and didn't run the first time Keely looked under the chair - it was only when my slow ass didn't set the chair back down fast enough that he lost it and ran. He was hiding up in the couch as well, thinking he could trick us.

It's probably time to stop screwing around. They'll be making bows and arrows next.

Epilog: We had a doggy-door that lead out to the backyard so the dogs could go in and out as they pleased. Over the next couple of days, we found several rat carcasses in the grass. Turns out it is easier to regress than progress. The rat colony is no more, and now the dogs go batsh*t insane every time they see a squirrel.