Animal Intruders
A rat in the attic is driving me mad, and other critter tales from the Deep South...
Maybe you noticed (more likely you didn’t), but I’m a month late on my editor’s note. If you noticed, I’m sorry. My life seems to have sped up lately, like I’m listening to an audiobook at 1.25x. The ideas come, I grasp at them, wanting to pen them to paper, but soon they float away, out of reach. I thought I might write about my recent garden walks in Greenwood Cemetery, or the phenomenon that is POLLEN SEASON (but, really, doesn’t “pollen season” speak for itself?), or the way the flashy bloom of azaleas seems so at odds with the annual sh*t show that is our state legislative session. But then I heard the skittering of tiny claws, the chill-inducing scuffle of a creature moving in the ceiling above my head, and all remaining ideas left my body.
There is a rat in our attic.
As I write this, my dog whines and growls and I shush him so that he doesn’t wake the toddler who just went down after two requests for milk, one request for blueberries, one plea for daddy to remove the monsters in her hamper, and a fifteen minute trip to the potty. At least her white noise machine drowns out the rat’s aerobic activities.
The rat’s presence is confounding. How does it—or they, god forbid, there’s more than one—get into our attic? Nobody knows, not even the pest control guy who poked around, scratched his head, and sold us on some upgraded poison traps last week. (He also told us that his dad once shot a possum in their attic with a pistol.) But instead of falling for the poison bait or the peanut butter smeared on snap traps, the rat seems to have grown more brazen. Not only does he skitter, he scampers. He claws and rolls and somersaults. I swear he enjoys taunting the dog, who eventually gives up and collapses into his bed, sighing deeply and closing his eyes.
The problem with our attic is that we cannot access it. Our house is small and our roof is nearly flat, leaving only a very shallow area in the central peak of the house. The only access point to the attic is through a six-inch gap near the heating unit in our utility closet, barely enough space to stick your hand through, let alone a single trap, which the rat studiously ignores, just as he ignores the four strategically-placed outdoor traps. So, what to do?
While Jackson is Mississippi’s biggest city, living here can sometimes feel like living in the country. Our neighborhood is filled with trees and tangled, brush-filled lots that provide shelter for various creatures. In nearby Manhattan Park, I’ve seen a wild turkey and plenty of large red-tailed hawks. A pair of barred owls hoot and caterwaul in the oak tree outside my bedroom window each spring. In the summer, I fall asleep to the chirping and croaking of frogs that thrive in the boggy areas by the drainage ditch that runs along our backyard. Unfortunately, less lovable critters also dwell in the trees here, and sometimes in our attics and walls, too.
The only time I actually saw a rat inside our house was after returning home from a late summer trip to the beach in 2018. I flipped on the kitchen light and made eye contact with a woodrat who was perched on the counter nibbling a whole sweet potato. I shrieked. The rat scurried. My husband set traps behind the stove and luckily the intruders were dead and gone within days.
Thank god for LaQuenza and his strong stomach. He is the one who deals with the dead rats, and once a dead baby possum, murdered by our dog. And last year, when I saw a puppy get hit and killed by a truck, I called LaQuenza crying. He arrived with his gloves and a couple plastic grocery sacks from under the sink, then solemnly went about his business while I sniveled.
Growing up in a suburb of Denver, I had lots of pets (including a ball python), but very little interaction with undomesticated animals. My most memorable animal intruder encounter (more like a second-hand encounter) was during a middle school softball tournament, when I stayed at another player’s house in Yoder, Colorado—a windswept little town on the eastern plains—and we woke up to an acrid smell. A skunk had gotten into their chicken coop, and the player’s father had shot and killed it. I had never seen anyone kill an animal, had never even examined roadkill up close, but I could picture the bloody scene, if only for the visceral, appetite-killing odor.
My husband, on the other hand, grew up in the country, in Lauderdale County close to the Alabama state line. Killing animals and dealing with dead ones—from shooting possums and squirrels, to poisoning stray dogs, to putting firecrackers in frogs’ mouths—was a grisly and unavoidable part of his young existence. The country wasn’t just a dangerous place for animals. From the stories I’ve heard involving BB guns and real guns, go-kart races, and seatbelt-less drives down gravel roads, I can’t believe he survived his childhood.
After that first rat, I felt bad about myself, as if by leaving out that countertop sweet potato, I had issued an open house invitation to the neighborhood rodent population. I felt bad, that is, until I heard others’ stories about rats and bats and possums. No one, it seems, no matter the income level or neighborhood, is immune.
Even in Eudora Welty’s house, squirrels nested in the eaves and flea-infested possums made a home under the downstairs bathtub. During my time as the director there, I was on a first name basis with the Critter Catcher, who often arrived with a caged raccoon or a possum in the back of his pick-up, ready for its humane release miles from where it had taken up unwanted residence. The Critter Catcher himself was walking proof that animal intruders are excellent story fodder for us Mississippians. And at the end of the day, I do love a good story.
But I also love a rat-free house. C’est la vie.
Have you ever had an animal intruder? Do you have any advice and/or lasting trauma? Please help me feel better by sharing your critter stories!
While you’re here, check out our fabulous slate of April contributor issues:
OMG. I have mice in my house. Not rats, but these little creatures leave their little droppings (they look like poppy seeds) all over my kitchen. Occasionally I catch one in a sticky trap. My fat, lazy cat is no help whatsoever!
During our recent cold snaps we began hearing scratching and thumping in our walls and between the first and second floors. Husband said rats but I said no unless it’s a super big one. We decided it was squirrel(s), which are prolific in our neighborhood, when we found a hole in our porch roof. It looks like one literally gnawed through. We’ve lived here 50+ years and this is the first time this has happened. As for other critters, we see possums often, coyotes, raccoons, rats, and saw a Fox on our porch via cams this winter.