Of Mice & Men

A True Story


If Santa were a prankster, he’d be to blame. But I’m certain the jolly old man wouldn’t be so nasty as to deliver what came around Christmas, 2009. And if I recall, he resorts to dropping coal into stockings instead of leading rodents into the faces of the unfortunate few folks found on the ‘naughty list’. Maybe he’s getting creative in his old age… I may need to reconsider his ‘Jolliness’!

Introduction #1, Code Name: Bonnie

Just around the 2009 Christmas Yule tide, I caught a small, dark shape skirt across my peripheral vision as something raced around corner of the open garage, disappearing into the muddled mess of my personal space. I had an eerie suspicion the dark shape was a rodent, of what size I could not tell with the limited image I caught. I looked around but found no sign, so I ran off to the store to buy several mouse traps under the guise of ‘testing’ Cheryl’s Miata. Knowing her sensitivity to spiders, I guessed that rodents would rank among God’s creatures that should NOT share our residence.

With Ninja-like skill, I navigated around Cheryl with the traps, stealing the peanut butter from the kitchen and returning it without her perceiving my covert mission. I loaded and locked three traps in the area of the garage where, if I were a rodent, would hide. I’m afraid to admit the ease to which my mind imagined the hiding place of a rodent, but nevertheless, my thought process proved correct!

The next morning, just after 5 AM I found a large black rat caught in one of the small traps. The trap that is designed for a small mouse caught the sneaky critter, but the rat wasn’t dead. It wasn’t hurt. It wasn’t even scared… it was simply tired from having its head caught in a medieval-type stockade. It looked like it tried to run, tried to hide, tried to pull itself free, but failed to maneuver through the tight spaces it crawled through to find the peanut butter bait; the last-meal of many rodents. I picked it up by the tail using a pair of pliers, delivering it to the garbage can to have its final days alone. The below-freezing temperatures probably ended its life before the anything violent came along to finish the deed.

Introduction #2, Code Name: Clyde

Scratch, scratch, scratch

The noise came from under the kitchen cabinets just after Christmas. Cheryl’s eyes widened in alert and my thoughts raced to the previous entrapment just a week earlier. I set the same traps that caught Bonnie, and felt confident this unwelcome visitor would have a similar fate.

Less than an hour later, while sitting on the sofa talking with Cheryl we jumped when one of the traps snapped. I found the trap empty – no rat, no peanut butter. I hoped that the trap released by itself, but as time moved on, this proved to be a terribly false assumption.

Over the next three weeks, the scratching sounds we’d occasionally hear turned into the terrible noise of large teeth gnawing on heavy wood. I found evidence of its travels in the garage, in the pantry, in the kitchen, behind the refrigerator, under the kitchen sink, and even under the dishwasher. The thing even opened the small crawlspace door in the laundry room! Apparently it was just looking around the place.

I placed small snap traps, large snap traps, large glue traps, poison cubes, and poison pellets in the areas it seemed to frequent. Apparently, while I tried to think like a rat, the rat thought more like a human. It avoided everything and anything that could cause it harm. We decided the beast was more than just the typical rat; it was highly educated and most likely a graduate from Oregon State University’s science and engineering departments. We named it Clyde, due to its clear criminal nature and the mate, Bonnie who died earlier.

I really didn’t want this menace to find a place in my annual Christmas letter, but it worked with great tenacity to mark its place in history. The rat, undoubtedly trained by the U.S. Special Forces, successfully avoided every trap I placed. I blocked the holes it created with tin foil, only to find it chewed up and spit out, further mocking my attempts at blocking its path. At my brother’s suggestion, I used balls of steel wool, which seemed to work… for a while. I found it would chew another hole beside the ones blocked with wool!

Then, one Friday afternoon, with the kitchen barricaded off from the rest of the house and the stove pulled out, I spied beneath the cabinetry with a flashlight to find the furry face of my arch enemy resting in undisturbed bliss. It had displaced a 1”x4” support under the cabinet to the extent where the nails could be seen shining against my light, just to make its home more cozy. I invited William, my 13 year old to see the rat, but by the time he positioned himself the rat had moved!

With the kitchen area blocked, and every hole it could use to make an escape blocked, I grabbed the broom handle and proceeded to reach into the rat’s un-rented living space and jostle it about, taunting it to run straight into the large glue traps I set at the only exit it had. To my surprise, the rat not only raced frantically toward me, but it JUMPED over the glue traps in one single bound!

I scrambled to find the BBQ fork and meat tenderizer I set aside to use against my foe, but I only found the BBQ fork, which I stabbed barbarically into the floor as the rat ran wildly into the open kitchen area trying to find any exit possible. In its frenzy, it attempted to leap over the barricades blocking it from the rest of the house. I suspect it would’ve taken Cheryl and Will hostage, if possible. As it ran away from the barricade, I found my opportunity to introduce my left foot into its side, not thinking at the moment that my feet were bare.

The last I saw of the freaked out foe was when it forced its way past the thick ball of tin foil beneath the dishwasher, ultimately slithering through the only hole I didn’t find until after I pulled the machine out.

With the battle done, I disassembled the extensive, lavish living arrangements this insurgent rat had created under the cabinet. We left the barricades in place, knowing it had very few hiding places left. Every trap available was garnished with a smorgasbord of treats including peanut butter, cheddar cheese, sliced almonds, and a light sprinkling of parmesan cheese.

Then… 4:15AM, Tuesday morning came with Cheryl grabbing my hand alerting me to the rhythmic grinding of teeth-on-wood in the empty bedroom beside ours.

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me!” I growled in frustration as I threw off the covers and set to action. I found the blasted fur ball from hell in the corner of room, behind a mattress stored in the room. It curled up innocently as I shined the light, but it couldn’t fool me! I asked God the day prior to deliver my enemy into my hands – Old Testament style. Well, clearly He answered my request and this was to be our final battle!

I closed the bedroom door and raced to the garage to find the broom stick, heavy electrical tape and the BBQ fork I used on our first battle. The fork broke after our first encounter, leaving only the steel forks and shaft. I trotted back to the room, I prepare my weapon in haste; taping the fork to the broom. In hindsight, I should have worn more than a robe into battle.

The rat stayed in the position where I left it, and with a great lunge, I drove the spear with all my might toward my victim. I missed! I yanked the weapon from the damaged wall as it raced away from my clutches. Two hole in the wall marked my ill-placed thrust.

I looked around for a moment, thinking briefly that I’d lost the rat among the scattered furniture stored in the room, but it gave itself away when its tail dropped from an empty dresser drawer ever so slightly. I pulled the drawer out, and the rat jumped away like an Olympian, bolting into the shadows once again.

I cornered it momentarily, using large glue traps set vertically to block its path, but it knocked the traps aside and bound behind a twin mattress set on end. It climbed the mattress, looking at me with vile eyes. I pushed the mattresses edge against one wall, and set a dresser drawer vertically to barricade the only way out. I created a 1 ft wide, 3 ft long killing box, blocked and barricaded on all sides.

Checkmate! It dropped to the floor from where it clung to the mattress and ran to the drawer blocking its exit. It stopped to look straight up at me. Our eyes locked momentarily, and if it could’ve begged for release, I’m sure it would have. But my eyes held no mercy for this destructive marauder, and I think it sadly realized negotiations at this time would be unsuccessful. I raised my spear over its trembling body, but before I could deliver my blow, it ran to the far wall. Turning to look at me, it lowered its face against the floor, cowering; pleading with its beady black eyes. If I didn’t hold such malice toward the creature, I would’ve thought twice about my intentions, but its “innocent, furry friend” gaze failed to mesmerize me, and I drew my weapon into position.

My spear flashed like lightening, and instantly the rat screamed in terrible pain! I watched with fierce delight as the body writhed upon my weapon, expecting death to come quick… but it didn’t! It screamed, wheezed, moaned, gasping for air, and whimpered in terrible agony. It tried to bite the weapon’s shaft, but gave up against the cold steel holding it tight against the wall.

As I waited for the rat to bleed-out, I heard my alarm singing beyond the wails and whimpers. I’d been in battle for 45 minutes, and I knew I would be late for work. Another frustration added to the mix of mayhem I was entangled in. I dared not release the rat to take another shot. Wounded animals are far worse than cornered ones.

I desired to hasten the death by twisting the fork, hoping to break the neck or sever an artery, but only induced the cries of death again and again. I realized at that point, that the fork had skewered the rat through the chest and upper shoulder, barely missing vital organs. Our roommate who was awoken from the ongoing battle, offered to use a compound bow to end the ordeal, but the alignment was wrong and the trauma of the rat caught in the slow throws of death was too great. So, without releasing my victim, I grabbed a heavy length of bed frame that rested nearby and proceeded to pummel the rat to death. Each blow delivered with a blend of malice and mercy. Only after five or six blows did the rat finally die, just as I asked God – Old Testament style.

Cheryl cautiously delivered the garbage can into the room so I could make my deposit, but left rather quickly. To my surprise she requested to know if it was a boy or a girl. I didn’t see her logic until she reminded me that rodents can pop out babies in less than three weeks, and we really didn’t need more super-rats running around. So, as the body sank into the soft plastic folds of the garbage, finally resting on its back in blood-drenched peace, I found my chance to answer the question. With my bloody BBQ fork, I searched the rat to verify that it was indeed Bonnie’s Clyde after all.

No baby rats coming from this hero – this OSU grad, Olympian, Special Forces rat named Clyde.

The day begun
My battle won

No glory here
No mourning tears

A tale to pen
Of mice & men