Road Rat

What are the chances I should encounter two rodents within 24 hours? Well, depending on where I lived, or what my line of work was, I guess the likelihood might be pretty high, and someone with more interest in stats than I could be crunching the numbers as we speak, but for the purpose of narrative, let’s just say it’s unusual.

My rodent rendezvous this morning was a tad different than my meeting with Shadow Mouse yesterday.  I was running near our schoolhouse when I saw on the road ahead of me a creature clearly deceased, as in very still and slightly flattened.  At first, I thought it might be a possum, because it wasn’t big enough to be a raccoon or a skunk.  As I got closer I saw it was no possum; it was a rat, and I mean a good-sized rat.  This thing was at least a pound; were it a preemie, it could have kicked its way out of an incubator.  I am going to be up front, no false bravado here. I am glad this thing did not drop down into a bucket in front of me, because I would not have handled it well.  I envisioned its long, scaly tail brushing against my skin while its ferocious teeth gnawed their way through my rubber gloves.  Oh, Rat That Is No More, I apologize that I could not feel for you what I felt for little nose-twitching Shadow Mouse.  Even with your one paw flung out as if trying to hitch a ride, I struggled to conjure you as a loving pet, and yet your size qualified you for pet status. I confess, though, as the image of your tail and teeth began to fade, I grew sentimental about you, Rat on Road, lying there in the chill of what should be a spring morning.

Chapter 2

I went back to the scene of Dearly Departed Rat.  That’s right, after Phyll and I went shopping for pants so I could throw away the awful pairs I have worn all winter, I asked Phyll if she would mind driving by the scene in order to get a picture for the blog.

Even as we approached the scene, I could see that Road Rat was in worse shape than he had been when I ran by him.  I could not take a photo as the scene was all too gruesome. Phyll turned the car around as I put my camera away; no viewer should see this rat carnage.  I wish I had not returned; I wish I had left the image of He Who Was Once a Rat in my head, departed but not dismembered.

We are home now, surrounded by two dogs determined to sleep right beside me, as if to reassure me of their aliveness.  The winds have picked up, our fireplace is roaring, and I imagine Spring out there somewhere, asking for directions to get to Southern Ontario.