Tony Hendriks - JAMAICAN PALEFACE RATS DESERT a sinking ship, or so the saying goes. It isn't really surprising as most seafaring rodents live below the water line in a ship's hold. In the event of an iceberg, great white shark, or in the case of that unfortunate Japanese ferry, a US Navy submarine coming thundering through your hull, the hold is the last place you want to be unless you breathe through gills.
So where do the rats go? In the most likely event that the ship is sinking at sea, not on land, they'll probably leap overboard and drown but in the less likely event there's a rock, dry land or passing lifeboat with room, (women and baby rats only), the driest form of refuge is the preferred destination. That is exactly what my apartment represented in the wake of the recent flood. Living on the first floor was a great choice a few days ago until hordes of hydrophobic rodents and cellar dwelling mice moved up above the Plimsoll line of the landing and in with me. They say you are never more than ten feet away from a rat in London. I'm a lot closer than that right now, which isn't very comforting considering rat fleas caused the plague of the Black Death, killing hundreds of thousands of people.
WHAT WAS THAT?
Every time I itch now I check my armpits for black lumps and feel my brow for signs of fever. Hang on. No, I'm okay. So now rodent refugees live in our floorboards and attic like asylum seekers and my wife suspects that every noise is rodent-related. "What was that?" she questions while jumping three feet in the air. "Honey," I say in disbelief, "it was a plane flying overhead." "Well, it sounded like a mouse."
To be fair, they move about nervously, aware they may have to leave at any moment but the British mouse is actually rather well behaved and shy. He disappears into the woodwork, literally, scurrying around in a blur of grey pinstripes between skirting board and carpet, hoping to be mistaken for dust. I tried to vacuum him up once but he's far too quick for me and I ended up breaking a vase and a standing lamp in the process.
Although he's objectionable the English rat is nowhere near as bad or bold as his Jamaican counterpart, which you'd know if you've ever been misfortunate enough to discover Jah Rat in your kitchen cabinet. He'll just blink at you, shout: "Hi, close de door! Is blind you want blind me?" then kiss his rat teeth; open a tin of sardines while puffing on his spliff. Lord Rat is almost apologetic. "Awfully sorry dear boy, just having a spot of elevenses. Where are my manners? Name's Ratus-Ratus Britannicus, pleased to meet you. Shan't take up any more of your time, I'll be off. Toodle pip!" And with a tip of his hat and a tug on his monocle he'll leave.
I wouldn't mind so much if they didn't run up my phone bill, have the TV on all night, drink my liquor, and leave a ring around the bath. They're taking the Mickey. Enough is enough. So now I've set traps. This in itself is fraught with problems. The rat trap is too big for the mouse. The guillotine misses his body and merely nicks his tail, but he isn't fooled by the small trap and obviously doesn't like cheese, biscuits, or peanut butter. He's either vegetarian or on the Atkins diet.
Lord Rat set off the mousetrap once but now wears it as jewellery and he uses the rat trap as a springboard to leap to the higher cupboards. A friend suggested I use a humane trap, catch them without harming them, and then set them free. Not bloody likely! I'm going to hunt them down, kill them, chop off their heads, and impale them on toothpicks as a warning to all other rodents. After that I'm going to get security, a rat-catching puss to stop everyone on four legs at the door. If that doesn't do it, I'll move to cellar and leave the apartment to the damn asylum seekers.
Tony Hendriks is a comedian. He can be e-mailed at palefaceuk@aol.com and find out where he is playing live at www.jamaicanpaleface.com
