There was a dead rat in the garage today, and I knew him by his smell. I knew him before I saw him, and then I didn’t look, actually, the smell was plenty. I didn’t want more.
I prefer my life to be free from dead rats, especially on days when the degrees are past 100. The rat trap blinked red, flashing, alerting me to the happy tragedy.
“Redemption? Sure. But in the end, he’s just another dead rat in a garbage pail behind a Chinese restaurant.” –Wes Anderson’s Fantastic Mr. Fox.
I think life is strange, because today I managed to make a mean beef stroganoff from a cut taken from a freezer right next to a dead rat. It seemed almost contaminated by association, but that isn’t a real thing.
I think the dog did something in relation to the rat, because now SHE smells gross. Perhaps being contaminated by association IS a real thing, as long as you rub your face in it.
“If what I think is happening, is happening, it better not be.” -Mrs. Fox
As a child I would get overwhelmed by all this decay and death, rats and round steaks. It was too much and I decided to leave the country. I didn’t marry a farmer because I don’t like bugs and dirt and worrying about the weather.
Speaking of who I married, Derrick is still replacing light switches with bluetooth capable ones. He’s working in the bathroom right now. He’s just informed me that the contractors didn’t attach the circuit box to the wall and so now it’s fallen behind the drywall. Dead rats abound.
I guess I didn’t escape the grosser things in life, and neither did the Victorians. They called manure, “dressing” but it didn’t change crap.
Would I prefer a live or a dead rat? How about no rats. Come Lord Jesus, come, but while I’m waiting, give me the courage to deal with the disgusting things in life and the patience to forgive contractors and stinky dogs. Help me to keep my eyes on things that are lovely, and when I have to deal with manure, let me think of a polite term for it.