A skitter across the floor as I left for work, a small mammalian body disappearing into the woodwork. Oh dammit. So after art class I'm at Home Depot looking at a vast array of traps and rat poisons, trying to figure out what I can stomach. I don't want the buggers in my house, but it's hard for me to consider killing things with beating hearts, if that makes sense, but there's those cheapo little wooden traps and I read that mint and bay leaves are smells they don't like so I place sprigs and roots ripped from the garden on the shelves in the kitchen, in the pantry, behind the fridge, feeling vaguely hippie and superstitious and stay up way later than planned vacuuming up the scat and tossing out tainted food.
It really could be worse, but it's so gross, and I fall asleep hoping I don't hear anything die.