Midnight munching monsters
It does not take a lot to scare me out of my socks or pajama pants. In fact, between my overactive imagination, the invisible intruder and “What’s that noise?”, it is a wonder I still have rescue-remedy’s left. ‘Scuse me, but today I face the world with a few dark circles under my eyes and dragging my stiletto-feet. The emo-look is not intended.
At 2:45 this morning, I bolted upright…elbowed the husband… “Did you hear that?!”
Grunt. (Pretty sure that was from the husband.) More anxious elbowing ensued, with husband finally semi alert...we wait…there it is again!
“It is a RAT!” I shrieked. “Nonsense!” yelled the husband back, whilst ensuring all his limbs remain safely within the duvet cover. Silence…nothing. “Go back to sleep,” he huffs.
2:55 AGAIN!
This time I am convinced it is a rat. A giant one…Gnaw… nibble…scratch. I think husband heard it as well. In one flick the bedside lamp is turned on, with husband assuming the “intruder attack karate” stance…
“Over there…” I whispered… “Under your t-shirt…” pointing to the floor. A flamboyant toss reveals no crazy critter.
“Inside the washing basket?” I suggest helpfully from the safety of the bed. Tip basket over with one foot, ready to roundhouse kick whatever jumps out. Empty.
“Cupboard?” Nope…
“Under the bed?” Thank goodness no!
“Wait!” husband signals some army move (I assume means shut-up) and points to the en-suite. He beckons me closer…”No way” I said. I get a murderous look. “Fine,” and creep up behind him. Now anyone knows you can’t attack without a game plan. We need a weapon. Search frantically and make do with a plastic hanger.
“Okay, you turn on the light when I open the door and then we charge in together…one…two…three!”
The platoon surges forward (can a platoon be only one person?) Husband enters en-suite with a battle cry, I lunge for the king size mattress and pull duvet over head. If husband scares RAT, thing will pounce on me…no way am I being the back-up.
Battle cry turns into: “ Libbyyyyyyy!” A chuffed Labrador exist bathroom with a half chewed soap dispenser…
3:05 Wrestling match ensues to dislodge soap dispenser from soapy, slippery dog jaws.
3:08 Husbands shrieks and clings to index finger (bleeding). Libby was putting up fierce resistance to anyone trying to take away “her stuff.”
3:09 Dog is hiccupping soap bubbles.
3:10 Dig through medicine cabinet and find the last band-aid. It is a purple Barney.
3.12 Soap dispenser is chucked out the window, lying in a puddle, in the rain.
3:13 Remove all items that may (or not be) toxic to dogs (shampoo, soap, toilet paper).
3:15 Shepard dog back into bathroom with a stern warning of “No chew”.
3:18 Fall into bed and try to sleep…
5:15 Awake to alarm and husband’s purple Barney finger in my ear…
Both husband and hound will be going for their shots tomorrow. We will also be stocking up on band-aids. (Spiderman ones). Also investing in mascara…the emo-look is pretty cool.
And no, rats and Labradors DO NOT make good household pets at 3 am.
