Everyone knows that Boca is a fierce hunter. At his age, I would hope he would start slowing down with all the hunting, but unfortunately that is not happening.
We just experienced Rat #3 incidence. This is the third time in as many months that he has brought a rat into the house for his amusement. If they are not already dead by the time we find them, they will be eventually. And everyone knows his “I have a live critter somewhere in the house- shall we play?” behavior.
This time he brought the rat into the hall. We honestly thought it was dead. I mean I even had the thought that at least this was good timing because the trash would go out tomorrow. I can pick up a dead vermin. I only need a half roll of Bounty and three Wal-Mart bags.
Christina found Boca and the rat first and yelled for me. When I came out and saw it, I yelled for my husband. Who was watching a ball game on TV and wasn’t really interested and/or maybe thought by now we could manage these sorts of episodes on our own. (And if that is the case, then what the hell is he thinking?)
So Christina and I are contemplating this new development while simultaneously saying “Bad Boca” and taking video for Christina’s snapchat. Then Boca touched the rat with this paw.
And. It. Moved.
That was it for me and Christina. We screamed and proceeded to run into her bedroom stuffing a towel under the door to make sure the rat would not get in.
Shortly thereafter, we hear my husband cursing and yelling at me to “come here.” My daughter pushed me toward the door stating “Your husband is calling you.” Totally not fair that I got the short end of the stick on this one, I s-l-o-w-l-y opened the door and checked for a rogue rat.
Hearing commotion in the dining room, my husband handed me a broom and told me to stop the rat from going into the living room and he would herd it out the front door. I immediately knew where the rat was from Boca’s twitching tail/silent hunter stance next to the chair.
Except when that 12 pound, gross, creepy gray thing came at me, all I did was scream and throw the broom. Which meant Mr. Rat was now in the living room. Somewhere.
At this point, my husband was pretty pissed off and I guess the curiosity got the better of Christina who came out of her room (not to help, of course but to send a follow up snapchat of the original video; the one where we originally thought the rat was dead).
Upturned furniture in the living room and then into the Florida Room. Shoved furniture in the Florida Room and my husband was finally able to whack the rat out the back door onto the deck. (I would guess his golfing skills came in handy for that part).
When it was all said and done, it looked like our house has been burglarized and ransacked. The lounge chair was upside down, as was the ottoman. All three couches were displaced and throw pillows randomly tossed all over on the floor. Without saying a word, Christina and I started righting both rooms to normalcy.
But that wasn’t the end, of course. We got the heated lecture (with profanity) of why the hell did we stand there and just look at it. Because, according to my husband, how easy this would have been if we had just put a box over the rat as soon as we saw it?
“What? And not get video?” Christina whispered to me. (I told her to stop before we got into more trouble).
So we failed yet again on being good rat hunters. Boca, on the other hand, is doing real good.
Now all I have to do is get the rat blood out of the carpet before Michael’s sister comes to visit us next week.