Part II: The Fate of Ratsaurus, The Beginning of the End

*** A note to the reader:  If you have not read the first part of this story, scroll down two posts to the post titled, "Jim".  This is not the Star Wars Trilogy and you will gain nothing from of reading this story out of order.


It's been hard to sleep since Jim's been gone.  There's something about sleeping alone in a cold bedroom that gets to you after a while, and while I can't exactly say I miss him, more than one night lately has found me suspiciously eyeing the chewed-up corners of my top blanket.  I wonder where he is, I wonder if he is warm.  I wonder if he is dead.  God, I hope he's dead.

I mean.  Um.

Sure, we spent an unforgettable night together.  Sure, his existence brought me even closer to my own understanding of reasons I would be willing to die a painful disease-ridden death in a third world country.  Forged bonds like that are not to be forsaken lightly.  I mean, having another living being poop under your bed and chew on your underwear is about as memorable as it comes.  

Yeah.  I hope he's really, really good and dead.

But what of his compatriot?  What of Ratbominable?  Where did he go the night after he single-handedly consumed fifteen generously proportioned zombies before being so rudely interrupted by the awakening of my host family?  Well.  Sit criss-cross applesauce, my dears, while I spin y'all a village yarn ...

It was a few weeks ago now, by the dim ochre light of the harvest moon (that's right, it rose in January just for us), that I first grew aware of that little eater of the undead's presence in my own bedroom.  I was on my computer doing Really Important Things like playing spider solitaire and reading Yahoo! Answers for "Can my flesh-eating fungus cure cancer?" when I heard The Scuffle.  Don't know what a rat scuffle sounds like?  Live my life and you will begin naming rats by their scuffle sounds.

Mr. Shuffle-Paws
Mr. Squeaky Argument
Evil Tap Dance
Maradona
Aw, It's a Little Tiny Mousie
The Attic Birjha Boys

And those are just the first uncles on Squeaky Toes' mother's side.

I tried to convince myself that it was coming from the ceiling.  I do that a lot.  Try to redirect the origin of rodent sounds with my psychic powers.  But although I was wholeheartedly rooting for the relatively safe location of directly above my head, alas, it was not to be.  I had a visitor.

Scuffle, scuffle, bump.  Shuffle, sidle-waltz, squeak.  I'm pretty sure the soundtrack of my bedroom visitor's Unknown Location Symphony played backwards while watching The Wizard of Oz would be terrifying high (On life, guys, ok?  On life.  Relax).

I slid my laptop off of my stomach and padded silently towards my door to get my host mom.  I locked It inside.  Because if I was going to start a bedroom rendition of 28 Days Later, I didn't want to scare away my brains-munching co-star.

My conversation about the rodent with my family went, as so many of them do, in a relatively productive direction if you aren't a stickler for semantics:

Me: "I have a rat in my room."

Host Mom: "Really?  You have a mouse?"

Me: "Yes, I have a rat."  (I have learned, in Georgia, to answer "yes" regardless of whether something is true if I think it will get me what I want.  Oh, language, you tricky minx.)

Host Aunt: "What's wrong with Ala?"

Host Mom: "She has a mouse in her room."

Me: "Yes.  I have a R.A.T."


Act II: Scene I

Host Mother and Awkward Volunteer enter stage left through a bedroom door with no handle.  The room is in extreme disarray.  Everything is piled on the bed and looks about to topple off as if Awkward Volunteer had not made such a casual, sly exit as she clearly had wished to portray.  Both are both bundled up quite tightly as if it is very cold and while on Host Mom this looks rather normal, it makes Awkward Volunteer look distinctly homeless.


Host Mom: Taking in the scene.  "Are you sure you heard the mouse in your room?"

A.V.: "Yes.  There is a rat in here."

Host Mom: "Okay, where did you hear it?"

A.V.: "In the corner inside the wardrobe."

Host mom looks towards wardrobe.  It is closed and a chair is pushed in front of it.  The chair is piled high with books and other heavy objects as if Awkward Volunteer is attempting to cage a small bear.

Host Mom: "Ooooooookaaaaaaay.  Well, let's take a look, then."

Awkward Volunteer makes a show of being brave by walking forward one step for every two she takes back.  She appears to be performing some kind of African moon dance.  Host Mom ransacks wardrobe as A.V. pretends to help.

Host Mom:  "There's nothing in here.  I don't see the mouse.  Are you sure you heard it?"

A.V.:  "There is a RAT IN THIS ROOM."

Host Mom: "Well, it's not underneath the wardrobe ... and it can't get behind it ..."

Host Aunt enters stage left.

Host Aunt: "Are you sure you didn't hear that noise?"  Host Aunt points to the wood burning stove crackling across the hall.  Awkward Volunteer's pride is clearly wounded and she appears to be growing quite defensive.

A.V.:  "No.  I heard a  rat. in. this. room."

Host Mom:  "There is no mouse in this wardrobe."  She shakes all of A.V.'s clothes to make her point.  She looks ready to leave, but, sensing A.V. is rather unusually unhappy, she decides to sit on the bed instead.

Host Mom:  "Shhhhhhhhhhhh ..."  She waits.  And waits.  And waits.  As the silence continues, A.V. looks increasingly frustrated like one of those people whose dog won't do a trick in front of strangers.

Host Mom: Consolingly "If you hear it again, let me know, okay?"

Host Mom exits stage left.  A.V. shifts from foot to foot, then begins to unload all objects from her bed and dump them on the floor in a heap.  She appears quite used to cleaning with this method.  A.V. eases herself onto her unstable cot, grabs her computer, and begins to search Yahoo! Answers again.

A few minutes pass.  Suddenly A.V. starts, then stills.  She clearly hears something coming from the same corner of her room ...

To Be Continued ...