Rats are generally known to be hair-raising creatures that nobody wants in their homes, but which even the best structures have. They skirt around from one hiding place to the next, often bringing with them a trail of shrieks from those who happen to catch them in motion. And I say the spite thrown their way is well deserved because of how rats have the tendency to sneak into places where the food supply is or even where some prized garments are.
But recently I have found out that the worst kind of this vermin has to be the one with two feet, is about five feet tall, and isn't as adept as their four-legged counterparts at making themselves inconspicuous. Like, hello? If I can slightly feel or hear a 5-gram critter moving around in my room how much more noticeable do you think can a 100-pound giant be?
Before anyone jumps into any misguided conclusions, no, I am not talking about the blabbermouth kind of rat, but rather a literal rat of enormous proportions or something like that. The kind that gets on my nerves by its mere presence even without seeing or actually having any contact with it. The kind that tries to avoid my path, but miserably fails to do so because its hiding hole is unfortunately my living space - a space we both breathe in, sleep in, exist in.
I could go on with the analogy, but frankly i'm dangerously close to giving myself away, so, no - the vermin will remain to be unknown and will continue to be just that, an annoying creature I either learn to live with or find some ingenious non-incriminating way to get rid of. This much I can say though, the latter's turning out to be the more appealing option.
Someone better find me a cage.
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