Rattus! Rattus!
“Eek! Mummy! There’s a rat in the kitchen!” – so started the saga of “Rattus Rattus”. My little one looked at him with awed fascination. He was tiny – about the size of a quail’s egg – peering at us with beady black eyes before bounding out of reach into a nook. He was clever and very agile. We’d uncovered his droppings behind the broom closet. Quick darts and getaways attested to his presence. The four of us opened all the outlets and tried to shoo him to the verandah, only to find him peering at us from behind the musty volumes in the library. “Mum, he’ll eat up the computer’s wires!” wailed my son. Soon I started uncovering half-eaten Maggi packets, and my Gandhian husband had to agree to a trap.
But we underestimated Rattus Rattus. We placed coconuts and bajjis in the trap. Chappie knew how to get the goodies off the hook without getting caught. We’d find the trap wide open and the goodies gone … and yes – more droppings, not to mention a half-bitten packet of instant coffee. We continued setting the trap. When we heard it snap, we all rushed to view the prisoner. Sure, he was there, merrily looking at us with his bright eyes. My admiring family positively cooed and billed at him – “Annimunni Paapu, Chweety-pie” and so on. When I demanded that he should be banished without ceremony, they all behaved as tho’ I was Hitler or someone and – most reluctantly – deposited him in the bin across the road.
That night he was back! A half-bitten file titled “Conduct Rules for Govt. Officers” marked his return. So the trap was set again and Rattus Rattus suffered himself to be caught again. This time the redoubtable Gandhians gave him a joy-ride in our Maruti van and released him among some bushes near Sankey Lake.
The destruction continued! My kids hoped it would be Rattus Rattus. It must have been his wife, for we found a pocket edition of RR – the size of a baby’s thumb – behind the fridge. Mrs RR was caught and deposited in the Sankey Lake bushes. But three tiny ones were scampering around. One tried to climb out of the kitchen sink. We held the trap there. Master RR walked in obligingly, but out again thro’ the bars before we could reach Sankey Lake. We hunted all over. I expect he got back home with us because the tally was still “3”.
Finally, I caught two of them in the trap. They were too big to escape. I took them to the Sankey Lake bushes thro’ the short-cut behind our quarters. There was a Forest Dept maalin there.
“Hey! What‘re you doin’?” she called.
“I’m releasing two rats”.
“We’ll see about that!”
“Howdhaa ….? Well, you can check with CCF Sayabru. He wants the rats released here”. And I released them and walked off!
Still one to go ….if he hadn’t started a family! Not to mention a malevolent maalin, children who were adept at doing “galattey”, and my husband on tour! Upstairs Mami advised me – ”Stuff paper under all the outside doors”.
Simple! Nonviolent! RR II got the message, “The natives are unfriendly”. Hey presto! – No more Rattus Rattus! Hah! I’d seen the last of him. But that was not the last I heard of him, for my incorrigible little ten-year-old daughter said, “Mummy, I miss Rattus Rattus, don’t you?”
“Eek! Mummy! There’s a rat in the kitchen!” – so started the saga of “Rattus Rattus”. My little one looked at him with awed fascination. He was tiny – about the size of a quail’s egg – peering at us with beady black eyes before bounding out of reach into a nook. He was clever and very agile. We’d uncovered his droppings behind the broom closet. Quick darts and getaways attested to his presence. The four of us opened all the outlets and tried to shoo him to the verandah, only to find him peering at us from behind the musty volumes in the library. “Mum, he’ll eat up the computer’s wires!” wailed my son. Soon I started uncovering half-eaten Maggi packets, and my Gandhian husband had to agree to a trap.
But we underestimated Rattus Rattus. We placed coconuts and bajjis in the trap. Chappie knew how to get the goodies off the hook without getting caught. We’d find the trap wide open and the goodies gone … and yes – more droppings, not to mention a half-bitten packet of instant coffee. We continued setting the trap. When we heard it snap, we all rushed to view the prisoner. Sure, he was there, merrily looking at us with his bright eyes. My admiring family positively cooed and billed at him – “Annimunni Paapu, Chweety-pie” and so on. When I demanded that he should be banished without ceremony, they all behaved as tho’ I was Hitler or someone and – most reluctantly – deposited him in the bin across the road.
That night he was back! A half-bitten file titled “Conduct Rules for Govt. Officers” marked his return. So the trap was set again and Rattus Rattus suffered himself to be caught again. This time the redoubtable Gandhians gave him a joy-ride in our Maruti van and released him among some bushes near Sankey Lake.
The destruction continued! My kids hoped it would be Rattus Rattus. It must have been his wife, for we found a pocket edition of RR – the size of a baby’s thumb – behind the fridge. Mrs RR was caught and deposited in the Sankey Lake bushes. But three tiny ones were scampering around. One tried to climb out of the kitchen sink. We held the trap there. Master RR walked in obligingly, but out again thro’ the bars before we could reach Sankey Lake. We hunted all over. I expect he got back home with us because the tally was still “3”.
Finally, I caught two of them in the trap. They were too big to escape. I took them to the Sankey Lake bushes thro’ the short-cut behind our quarters. There was a Forest Dept maalin there.
“Hey! What‘re you doin’?” she called.
“I’m releasing two rats”.
“We’ll see about that!”
“Howdhaa ….? Well, you can check with CCF Sayabru. He wants the rats released here”. And I released them and walked off!
Still one to go ….if he hadn’t started a family! Not to mention a malevolent maalin, children who were adept at doing “galattey”, and my husband on tour! Upstairs Mami advised me – ”Stuff paper under all the outside doors”.
Simple! Nonviolent! RR II got the message, “The natives are unfriendly”. Hey presto! – No more Rattus Rattus! Hah! I’d seen the last of him. But that was not the last I heard of him, for my incorrigible little ten-year-old daughter said, “Mummy, I miss Rattus Rattus, don’t you?”
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