So Secret Lulu, bless her heart, decided she wanted a hot dog and not one of those ghetto cooked-in-the-frying pan hot dogs, either. Secret Lulu has standards. She wanted a hot dog on the grill. So she told me what to do. In detail. Starting with take the cover off the grill.
Of course I did exactly what she told me. We all know who wears the yoga pants in this family. When I am not busy being an adult hobbit, I moonlight as Secret Lulu's house elf.
Let me pause to shudder.
Lest you think I am shuddering at the shame of being Lulu's b*tch: No. That is really not it, people. Seriously, you should know better by now. I am shuddering because I have finally found the line--you know, the one that marks what I will do for Lulu from what I will not do for Lulu. There is a rat patrolling that line, people.
He's a big'un.
When I lifted the grill lid, lighter in hand, ready to light that mother up and get to grilling, I was greeted, nay, menaced by a rat that was easily the size of my two fists put together. That's the body, people. I didn't stick around to size up the length of his tail. Besides, my view was obstructed. The rat was under the grates of the grill, almost behind bars if you will, but that did not stop me from running screaming like a little girl.
There was a witness. And I'm not just talking about Secret Lulu. I was on the phone with my very dignified grant writer friend who used to live in the great outdoors in National Parks with bears and stuff when she was younger. Seriously. She also lived on a boat for a while. She's not a screamer. She's kind of tough. At least tougher than me, which admittedly isn't all that hard to do.
Save-the-Whales Zsa-Zsa, anyone?
Anyway, there was a witness, and when I finally got done hooting and running, I settled down enough to let out a loud and healthy "OHMYGAWD" to which Secret Lulu rejoindered "Suh-WEET Jee-SUS."
That's a direct quote. I have no idea who taught her that.
Stop looking at me.
Anyway, I cooked that hot dog ghetto-style in a frying pan. I also served up some basmati rice--rinsed three times before being lovingly cooked in my tiny rice steamer--and mandarin oranges. Mr. Poppins and I had ravioli with jar sauce, french bread on the side.
Mr. Poppins claims that we eat like nomads. I have no idea what he's talking about.
Somewhere in the middle of all that slaving over a hot stove, I called Orkin and talked to my guy Dwight. He knows me. I'm always the best call of his day. I seriously doubt he says that to everyone. What are the odds?
At first Dwight may have thought I was exaggerating the rat, perhaps even aggrandizing a baby mouse, but as it was supper time, Mr. Poppins arrived home because I really hate when he is late for dinner and the gruel gets cold. Mr. Poppins saw the rat walking patrolling the grill area and said the rat's body was easily 9 or 10 inches long. Still no report on the tail.
Anyway, Dwight is getting a guy out here as soon as possible, which is Monday. That's not particularly soon when you've got a double-fist-sized rat taking up space in the backyard, but it will have to do. Dwight said it might be a roof rat and asked me all kinds of discomfiting questions about how close the trees are to my house and whether or not I've heard anything in the attic.
I was not reassured.
Mr. Poppins, sensing my unease, manned up and went out there to take back the grill. There was a hose involved and maybe some other stuff that I didn't see because I was hiding in the house. Actually, Mr. Poppins was quite seriously not afraid of the rat. The hose was just for cleaning droppings out of the grill. This made me nervous because if the rat were to attack, I might be expected to implement an extraction--kind of like Blackhawk Down--and I'm in not all that confident in my Ninja skills.
Don't get me wrong, I have Ninja skills, people. They're just subtle.
Thankfully, we all survived. Of course, I can no longer let Secret Lulu play out in the yard because the rat might carry her off, but it's dark out now, people, and she wasn't going outside again tonight anyway.
Oh, and when Secret Lulu sat down to have her basmati rice, she noticed she didn't have a drink, so she looked me square in the eye, and I swear to Hank, people, said, "Mommy, I need a cold one."
Yeah, you and me both, Secret Lulu. You and me both.
I am crying laughter tears.
I might have more of a problem with a rat than I did the rabid raccoon that took up residence on our porch in GR.
Posted by: proud aunt | February 21, 2009 at 01:49 PM
Maybe this is the time to look for the silver lining. Rather than get a cat, why not just name the rat? I think Griller is cute. Or Atticus.
Posted by: The Dol | February 21, 2009 at 02:37 PM
Am I the only one here who is thinking, why didn't she just light the grill? Pest control and dinner for secret lulu in one easy step ;-)
Posted by: Babydoc | February 21, 2009 at 06:04 PM
I think The Dol has a great point, that rat could be a pet. But then again copy and paste this link into your browser and you'll be re-thinking that. http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/163737/rats_feast_on_newborn_babys_face.html
Posted by: Alice | February 22, 2009 at 04:44 PM
proud aunt, you are the one voice of sanity in this comment thread.
The Dol, have you taken up drinking in the middle of the day.
Babydoc, so many levels, so many wrongs. Dude.
Alice, I'm going to have nightmares now. You are responsible.
Suh-WEET Jee-SUS, people. Who raised you?
Posted by: Polly Poppins | February 23, 2009 at 12:59 PM
I am never visiting you again. Ever. Ugh.
And I knew I loved Secret Lulu for a reason.
Posted by: Bookgirl | February 25, 2009 at 09:02 AM
Alice, I know better. I really do. But I read the article anyway. You are now dead to me.
Posted by: Bookgirl | February 25, 2009 at 09:03 AM
Bookie, thats not very nice.
Posted by: Alice | February 25, 2009 at 01:07 PM
Hmm, there's no mentioning here of when Secret Lulu tried to light the rat on fire or poke it with a stick? She must be a girl.
Posted by: Diosa | February 25, 2009 at 02:14 PM
Diosa, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but I am SO glad I don't have your life. Shudder.
Posted by: Bookgirl | February 26, 2009 at 02:26 PM
HELLO! Bookgirl!!! I can't really be dead to you, that's just mean. Look, it's not my fault about the rat eating the baby thing - I just brought attention to it. It's not like I paid the rat to eat the baby's face. Anyway, the baby totally survived.
Can I be alive now?
Posted by: Alice | February 27, 2009 at 01:02 PM
Rats you say. I would be packing and moving to a rat-free society. But then, we'd have no people there either!
Stay safe Polly and get Secret Lulu a cold glass of MILK! Ugh, California.
Posted by: Aunt Donna | March 02, 2009 at 11:15 AM
OK, time to 'fess up. I put the rat in the grill. I was trying out a new recipe to save money, what with the economy the way it is. But in my defense, the rat was supposed to be dead. Who knew it could hold its breath in the marinade for so long?
Anyway, sorry for the mixup, and If anyone wants to come by for rat kabobs, the guest room is always open!
Posted by: Ramblin' Jack | March 02, 2009 at 03:39 PM