Slaying rats
Jul. 9th, 2021 09:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
boccaderlupoI dreamed my mother had rented a house down the Shore. It was green, a ranch style home, single floor, dilapidated, a tarp covering part of the roof, way out on someplace like Island Beach. There were no other homes about, just the beach and the wide sea.
The family and I were there, and my brother. There was an infestation of baby rats in the home. They had all gone to sleep on what seemed to be one of those plastic "mats" where you put your shoes. They looked peaceful, a snoring, wriggling mass. Some of them had unique colors...brindled, even.
The wife and I watched them. She related a story about how one of my favorite local radio deejays, when he was younger, had a cable access talk show program. He would take white baby mice and literally rip them in half on the air, live, and eat them, blood, guts, and all. It was a gimmick. This was the '80s, so I reckon you could away with such things then.
I snuck up on the sleeping rats with a tool that had a long handle like a shovel, but at the end was a box-like weight, straight iron. As one would stomp bugs—Dear Reader, I don't know you, so I don't mean to imply you wantonly stomp bugs...you could be a very nice person—I raised the tool over my head and slammed it down on the rats, again and again. There was the sound of crunching of bones and gurgling. I told the wife to help me gather the bodies to dispose of them...but where?
I turned around for a second and, to my amazement, the rats were up and about. My attack hadn't injured them, only woke them up. They raced hither and thither through the kitchen. The wife and I grabbed a white plastic garbage bag, and I grabbed them up, one by one, and dumped them in there.
I think the intent was to drown them in the ocean, but then I woke.
The family and I were there, and my brother. There was an infestation of baby rats in the home. They had all gone to sleep on what seemed to be one of those plastic "mats" where you put your shoes. They looked peaceful, a snoring, wriggling mass. Some of them had unique colors...brindled, even.
The wife and I watched them. She related a story about how one of my favorite local radio deejays, when he was younger, had a cable access talk show program. He would take white baby mice and literally rip them in half on the air, live, and eat them, blood, guts, and all. It was a gimmick. This was the '80s, so I reckon you could away with such things then.
I snuck up on the sleeping rats with a tool that had a long handle like a shovel, but at the end was a box-like weight, straight iron. As one would stomp bugs—Dear Reader, I don't know you, so I don't mean to imply you wantonly stomp bugs...you could be a very nice person—I raised the tool over my head and slammed it down on the rats, again and again. There was the sound of crunching of bones and gurgling. I told the wife to help me gather the bodies to dispose of them...but where?
I turned around for a second and, to my amazement, the rats were up and about. My attack hadn't injured them, only woke them up. They raced hither and thither through the kitchen. The wife and I grabbed a white plastic garbage bag, and I grabbed them up, one by one, and dumped them in there.
I think the intent was to drown them in the ocean, but then I woke.
