I apologize for the lack of photo with this post, but trust me; it's not pretty.
The entire three years we've lived in the Presidio, we've been lucky enough to not have rodent problems...until now. I always acted sorry to hear other people's mouse stories; but really I was thinking, Sucks for them. Glad it's not me. Well, you know what they say about Karma. It's true. And she's coming back to get me in a big way.
Over the last week we've seen signs that we had a problem. I won't go into detail, but it involves poop. We quickly set traps, but they were ineffective. The other night I went to bed, only to be awakened by B screaming (like a girl) in the front room. He was standing on the side table, quivering, pleading for my help. He'd gone into the kitchen to steal the last ice cream sandwich when he encountered IT.
Turns out, IT is not a mouse, after all. It's a damn rat. It's at this point that I have two side notes regarding my language here: 1) In writing, I try to avoid curse words. They're so uncreative. But if you had a rat in your house, you'd probably say a few curse words, too; and 2) My mom said it's OK.
So back to the story: We set out glue traps, and thought that would fix the problem. In the morning, we saw that the "D.R." had, in fact, gotten stuck in the glue, then proceeded to drag itself and the trap across the kitchen and into the space under the dishwasher, where it had somehow escaped. We learned that our neighbor upstairs is having similar problems. That doesn't make me feel better.
So here are my closing thoughts:
1. I know it's not cool to advertise the fact that you have a nasty, nasty rat running free in your house...but I need to vent.
2. To the damn rat, if you're reading: This means war; you messed with the wrong girl.
My next tactic will be to borrow my dad's Airsoft gun and stage a sting operation. I'll wait up all night if I must.