RAT

I'm not here to say hello, Zonk. This is no time for pointless pleasantries. On another occasion I might have said Hey. I might have said have you been well and isn't it lovely how it's been raining. I might have stayed for a cup of tea and a bite of cake. I might have gone on with this banter till you felt oh-so-British. But today. Ah. Ah. Ah.


Just in case you haven't already noticed, I'm on edge today, Zonk. There have been Incidents of the Traumatic Type that have wreaked havoc upon my nerves. I feel jittery. I feel frail. I feel like a rabbit in the headlights. (No, not like a deer. I never feel like a deer but I sometimes feel like a rabbit. Though mostly I feel like a snicker-bar-hoarding squirrel.) And now you're wondering what I'm talking about. And we all know I'm not the type to beat around the bush (though I can see why an actual squirrel might want to do literally that). Besides. I can't stay here at my comp much longer or the tension will surely kill me. 
So here's what happened. I moved my comp two days ago. It took two electricians and several hours and a lot of lifting of heavy objects which were also disgustingly dusty objects. At first I thought I'd be clever. I thought I'd unplug all the wires and move the whole table with comp and dirt and all. I considered putting my whole family on the task, so everyone could hang on to a separate part of the comp while I pushed the table, and we'd all move together as a single unit. Sure it'd take a while and some practice to get us walking the right way, with small measured steps such that our positions relative to each other remain constant at all points. We'd need to each feel like one leg of a spider. We'd need to learn to move in response to each other. But at least my monitor wouldn't fall off while the table zoomed around on its wheels. It was a good plan but it was also a lazy plan. There was all that dust between the wires screaming at me. 4 years is really a long time to have not cleaned a 4 year old comp. Besides I didn't have enough family at hand.
So I took my whole computer apart. Yes, all of it. I put off the switches and unplugged the wires and figured out how to separate the screen from the CPU from the woofer from the speakers from the volume control thingy. I put all the random extra cords in a plastic bag and put the plastic bag in a drawer. I wiped the backs of everything. I even dusted with a paintbrush where the spaces were too skinny for my fat fingers to reach (and yes I have fat fingers, I'm sure you'd have never guessed). I hefted everything off the table. And then I washed the table. Like really washed. With soap and water and a sponge and a scrub. And then I moved everything individually to my lovely new Corner By The Windows and put all the wires back in place correctly and put the comp back on. At which point I touched my screen and it shocked me. So I put it all off again, plugged it into another point, put it on, and got my mom to touch the screen. She didn't get shocked, so that meant I was safe. I'd worked hard and everything was shiny and clean and I'd taken my comp apart and put it back together myself. I felt clever. Plus I discovered that the back of my woofer has a bass control knob and I lowered it a bit. [Please note: There is a bass control knob behind my woofer, but I can't promise there'll be one behind your woofer. So if you're scurrying around excitedly behind it right now and you don't find any such thing, don't blame me.] 
But I digress. Point being, everything was shiny and clean. It was time to open the windows by my comp and put my feet up on the table and gaze fondly at my screen framed against its brand new pretty backdrop. It would have been perfect.
Except there was a baby rat on my windowsill. He hopped around behind my curtains for a bit and then he got on to my table and sat down near my speakers. Now I'm a pretty brave person, Zonk, I don't mind a cockroach or the occasional lizard. I don't even mind a bee if it stays near the tube light and leaves when I turn it off. But this was a rat. A fucking rat. I can't deal with rats. Especially when they turn up on my computer table that I just washed with soap and water. So I did the only thing I could, Zonk. I screamed and I went to get my mom. (Fyi, screaming confuses rats.) But my mom was watching TV and she told me the rat could wait till break time. What to do. I had to wait, and by the time the break came on, my Rat was gone. Now I don't know if he actually left, or if he's lurking around near my new corner somewhere. I live in constant fear now, Zonk. And that is why I can't stay to chat too long. Indeed, I don't even put my feet on the floor around here anymore. I won't even let them dangle around in the general area. Right now I'm sitting on my chair like L (in case you're wondering, this is how L sits) and I look up from my typing at a regular three-word interval. I play music all the time and I've turned up the bass again so the vibration drives the Rat away. Maybe it will even drive him down to the back of my CPU, where all the wires are, so that he tries to chew through them and gets electrocuted and dies on account of my having left the comp on in the hope that he will chew through the wires and get electrocuted and die. And in case he does really return, I have an exit strategy all ready. On my table is a medium sized old steel bowl that I can upturn over him. I've also placed my chair very close to my bed so that I can stand up on my chair from my L position and step over the railing and onto the bed in two quick moves. From there it'll take me half a second to get to the railing on the other side of the bed, and from there I can jump straight out of the bedroom door if I really try. After that it's just a 3 second run to get to my mom. Your job, Zonk, is to pray that the next time I spot the Rat, it's break time on TV. 
*steps over railing and onto bed*

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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