posted Tue, 23 Oct 2007
I am sick and tired of paying Walgreen’s “we are super convenient, usually have what you want, are open 24/7 and have a great business strategy so we can charge you higher prices” prices for rat poison, so I went to Home Depot to get an industrial-sized box.
What I am really tired of is rats. I have not seen them, but have heard them snickering under the floor and have seen the expensive rat poison disappear a day after I put it out. Four blocks. Gone overnight. And yet the rats – or whatever they are – live. If I could capture them, I would send them to the D-Con research labs. Except that would mean I would have to touch rats, and ever since the fourteen rabies shots in my tummy* after I was foolish enough to play with the mouse in the window well after my mother told me not to and the mouse bit me and my mother knew, even though I had wrapped that bloody finger in Kleenex at my friend’s house, I have not been particularly fond of rodents or interested in touching them.
So I am at the Home Depot, in which I should have bought stock years ago, along with stock in Walgreen’s, and examining the rat poison for the package with the biggest skull and crossbones, and I read something on one of the packages that struck me as odd. The claim is that this poison did not contain the blah blah anticoagulant.
I am assuming they meant that this was a good thing in that the rat would not bleed to death, but why would they think that someone who is buying rat poison is worried about rodent suffering? I surely am not. I don’t care. I could have bought a little humane rat trap and released the rodents into the wild or into the next block over, but then they would just go into someone else’s house. I don’t want to move the problem; I want to end it.
Not only do I want them dead, I want them to die a painful death for the annoyance they have caused me. I have had to spend money on rat poison that I could have spent on chocolate. Or the heating bill. Something important. I don’t care if they hurt. I would squash their heads myself if I could do so without getting my shoes dirty.
I now await the nasty messages from PETA.
* And now I read that the anti-rabies series from 1969 probably wouldn’t have even worked if I had contracted rabies. Great. Painful yet ineffective. (Although had I been in my mother’s place back then, I would have done the same thing. Who knew?)
The working life: Photos
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