Bad Roommate(s) Bad Advice

Chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka-chicka. I hear scratching on the roof/deck… This is the third time. Tune to go check out what it is. It’s midnight:30.

I pop my head up and see the silhouette of a big fat New York rat. They get the size of cats in the Keys thanks to some exotic pet owner. Instead of scaring him with the paddle, he charges me. I jump up on the skinny gunwale in my boxers like a little school boy bitch. The rat is cornered in the black shadows of the cockpit, but unfortunately for me has David Copperfield skills and vanishes.

I wake up and listen. Great, he’s inside the boat. It sounds like he’s in the cereal box. I grab both boxes, closings the lids and duct tape them. Thirty seconds later I hear him in the motor well and shine his gleaming eyes with my cell phone.

It’s 4:30am now. Going back to sleep is not an option so I quietly scurry out the companionway to scoot down to the nearest grocery store. Four hours later I locate a rat trap.

The next day we find the rat trap set off and the cheese is gone, but no rat.

Three days later Steve dreams someone is combing his hair and wakes up with a large rodent collecting his long, golden hair for nesting material. Steve flings the double pounder into the salon with the back of his panicked hand. Steve is on board for rat elimination.

The next morning Steve wakes up with the rat between his legs. We declare war and oust the oversized mouse in a matter of hours. It’s sad to lose such a worthy adversary. Boat fires are common from chewed up wires and gas lines. It was us or him.

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