A perfect way to begin the new year, armed with insanity and rodent repellent.
It appears I have a deranged neighbor two floors above me who claims she has a recurring rat. As you can well imagine, this doesn’t sit too well with me, being in such close proximity. Yeah, there is an apartment between is, but I’ve been to the rat rodeo before, and they can boogaloo down a pipe like nobody’s business.
After leaving me notes like…what are WE gonna do, and she JUST saw him again, me being me, spun into action.
“Is Patrick home?” As in Pat the Cat, my noble neighbor, next door.
His father, who I seem to have awakened at 3 in the afternoon, says without pause, “Just a minute, I’ll see.”
Now you would think he might wonder why I’m asking, but merely, opens the door wider to let the furry fella out.
Next thing I know, I’m plying him with the tuna I was planning on having for lunch before politely asking, did he mind doing a little random reconnaissance work.
Being the rogue he is, when I took him into the kitchen to sniff around, then the bathroom, then back to the kitchen where I even single-handedly moved the fridge so he could have a peek behind it, the Columbo of felines pawed around. After rolling out an embarrassed blueberry, he looked at me as if to say, all good back there.
One of the many things I love about Patrick is how he looks at you as if he were smiling, and frankly, considering my ongoing buffet, why shouldn’t he be.
We then, out of the goodness of my heart who really just wanted to club her with my granddad’s rolling pin, take Pat upstairs.
Nutsy opens the door in a rose peignoir, the kind Lana Turner wore, with a martini glass in her hand.
“YES?” she says, as if she forgot her ratty notes that I’m saving for evidence when they come lock her up.
Patrick, jumps from my arms, running into her place as if he knows exactly where Mickey is hiding, however, after he patrols every nook and cranny from this, who the fuck decorated this house in this revolting shade of brown, meows a definite…all clear.
I pick him up, say to her, “Now that should be enough proof that you don’t have a rat,” then leave.
Now of course I sound as certifiable as she is, but be that as it may, as they say in 12 Step, you take the action, letting go of the result.
After a little milk break, I take Patrick back home.
His father, still sleepy says, “Oh, Patty, you’re back, did you have a nice time?”
I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves.
My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.