The house I live in is massive. A typical old Goan building, with high roof, wooden beams and tiles. Concentration is never a problem with me, but one tiny, hungry, squeaky voice would not let me proceed with my work. If there were baby rats around, certainly there were parent rats too. I had to do something about them. I decided tomorrow was as good a day to address the problem as today. But procrastination is the thief of time, and very many tomorrows passed before I even thought about those ugly little furry creatures. One night, when sleep eluded me, I decided to count the beams on the roof to tempt slumber. Hells bells! What do I see? Rats having a running race! I'll tackle them tomorrow, said I. But what with exams and corrections -- I am a schoolteacher, did I mention? -- the tackling never happened. One shattering night something plopped near my pillow with a thud and scrambled across using my hair as a carpet. It was a hair-raising sensation. I screamed, and the bold lump of corruption squeaked and charged. The same night, I could hear them having a ball in the attic. Bottles were pushed around, tins were rattled, papers were torn. My girls woke up saying, "Mom, we have to do something about the rats." My three daughters are pillars of strength and very bold in other matters. But they draw the line when it comes to killing rats. The next morning I went to the market. I bought a nice packet of a special rat-chocolate called Roban. The baits were placed at strategic locations right up to the attic. Two days later we missed the familiar sounds and from the third day we starting counting the dead. Believe it or not, there were 18 of them and peace in the house for a few months. Try Roban, I tell my friends now. My thoughts roll back to my hostel days in college. We used to have great fun -- midnight feats, late night parties, the works. Then one night we heard rats in the cupboard. Myra discovered that the toes of her best shoes had been nibbled. She cursed the rats. The night after another favourite pair was damaged. Next it was the turn of Myra's Parker pen to get gnawed! Could this rat be taking revenge on Myra for something she did unknowingly? The creature seemed hell-bent on making her life miserable. Her clothes too were being tasted by then. One day she opened her suitcase to find her letters torn to tiny bits and placed like a nest. She was furious. The warden felt sorry and organised a rattrap. Late at night we heard a wooden thump. We came out of our cubicles to see a big fat rat trapped. Myra yelled with glee and said, "Wait, let me take my revenge now!" She lit a candle and put wax on the rat's tail. After that we went off to sleep without further disturbances (we had opened the door and pushed the trap out with a stick). The next morning while brushing our teeth it was a pleasant topic. Myra suddenly thought about her captive. She went to see, and shrieked loudly. We ran out and what do we see? A rat with two little babies! Myra felt bad that she had tortured a mother rat that was in labour. The rest of us called her mean and wicked -- and Myra got the rat released to make amends! Caroline Lira lives in Saligoa, some 15 km from Panjim.
HOME | NEWS | BUSINESS | MONEY | SPORTS | MOVIES | CHAT | INFOTECH | TRAVEL SINGLES | NEWSLINKS | BOOK SHOP | MUSIC SHOP | GIFT SHOP | HOTEL BOOKINGS AIR/RAIL | WEATHER | MILLENNIUM | BROADBAND | E-CARDS | EDUCATION HOMEPAGES | FREE EMAIL | CONTESTS | FEEDBACK