Thursday April 24, 2014
The Nest- Kitchen
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:37 PM Local Time
“Oh my God…”
Wendy involuntarily took a step back, bumping into the kitchen door that had swung shut behind her. It took every ounce of willpower in her to not turn on her heel and run screaming into the street. She couldn’t abandon Theresa, no matter what her instincts had.
For her part, the seven year old girl was on the kitchen table, sobbing and wiping the tears from her face, although she’d stopped screaming at least. Next to the table was a chair, overturned- the lound thump she had heard no doubt. Theresa must have knocked it over climbing onto the table.
Not that she could blame her. For on the floor, situated between Wendy and the table her daughter was sitting on, was a rat.
An enormous rat.
The rodent was at least two feet long from head to tail, and had to weigh at least fifteen pounds- not that Wendy would EVER in a million years hold it. It’s coat was slimy and disgusting, and Wendy wrinkled her nose at the wet-boggy smell. She looked up at Theresa. “Did it bite you? Are you hurt?”
“N-no…” Theresa said, wiping her eyes. “I was getting an apple, and I heard a hiss over here, and I thought Chant was coughing up a hairball, and I was going to open the door and let it out and… well it was there.”
“Thank God.” Wendy said, sighing in relief that her daughter wasn’t about to come down with a case of rabies. She took a deep breath. “My God… this thing is HUGE! How did it even get in here?”
“I don’t know! But make it go away, mom!”
“I’m trying, sweetie,” Wendy said, trying to think quickly. .How in the blooming hell was she going to KILL this thing? Or could she run it off? The rat was between her and the door, so maybe she could chase it that way… if she could figure out how to get it open. Could Theresa…?
“Okay, I have an idea.” Wendy announced, steeling herself to believe in what she was about to suggest. “I’m going to grab it by the tail, and you… you hop down and open the door, and then I’ll carry it outside and throw it off the deck.”
The prospect of coming down from her perch terrified the seven year old, Wendy could tell. But Theresa swallowed, and looked at her skeptically.
“What if it comes back?”
“I think the fall will kill it,” Wendy said. “And if not, it’ll be so frightened it runs away, and we can figure out how it got in. Can you do this, Theresa? Can you open this door?
Theresa took a long time debating internally with herself, and seemed to so badly want to tell her mom no. But finally, she nodded, trembling. “Oh-okay…”
“Alright.” Wendy agreed, crouching down. “Okay, I’m going to count to three. Then you jump down, open the door, and get away, alright? One…. two…” She swallowed hard, offering up a silent prayer that this wasn’t going to backfire in some horrible way and end up with her- or even worse, Theresa- being bitten. “THREE!”
Wendy lunged forward, grabbing the tail, and picking the rat up. It was heavier than she had thought, and its tail was slippery. She took two steps forward, then the rat writhed, it’s tail sliding from her grasp. The angry rodent hit the floor with a loud thud, twisting and squealing as it righted itself back to it’s feet.
And that was the moment that any last bit of nerve remaining in Wendy Briese shattered.
Terrified screams echoed through the kitchen as Wendy leapt at the kitchen island, flopping on her belly and pulling up. Theresa had just reached the door when she saw her mom drop the rat, and for a second, remained transfixed, unsure what to do. Then she saw her mom flopping onto the island counter, and immediately determined that the table was a far better place to be. She didn’t even need a chaiir this time- her panicked leap-dive easily carried her on the table, and then the only thing left on the floor was one very large, slimy, stinky, angry rat.
It was several seconds before the screams quieted and Wendy was able to regain her senses. Looking up, she saw Theresa back on the table, unharmed, but staring angrily at her. “Great plan, MOM.”
“Sorry, just… oh God I TOUCHED it…” She stared down at her slimy hand, swallowing down a wave of nausea. Luckily, the island had the kitchen sink on it. Wendy flopped her way, turning on the water, and scrubbing her hands until she thought the skin was going to fall off.
“Now what?” came her daughter’s voice.
“Now… we call your father.” Wendy’s reply came, reaching into her pocket, and pulling out her cellphone. She quickly dialed Terrence’s number, whispering rapdily ‘c’monc’monc’mon…’
“Hey-o! It’s Terrence. Can’t talk. You know the drill.”
“Terry!” Wendy nearly howled into the phone once annoying recorded operator lady finished talking and gave the beep. “There’s a GIANT rat in the house, and Theresa and I are trapped in the kitchen. Please come home NOW.” She hang up, grimacing as the battery warning came on. “Five Percent Remaining?” she whimpered.
Still, she had to keep trying. She quickly tapped out a text message saying the same thing, then a tweet- although this time leaving out the part about the rat. She didn’t really want the FFW universe thinking there were regularly rodents running around the Thompson family kitchen. She was preparing to call again, when the tweet notification hit.
@WendyBriese Im in the middle of the scoreboard test. Ill come home right after
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Wendy bleated, fighting the urge to fling her Droid across the room. “THIS IS WAY MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE STUPID RACETRACK!” Angrily, she tweeted back.
@TwisterThompson I DONT GIVE A DAMN WHAT YOURE IN THE MIDDLE OF WHAT PART OF IMMEDIATELY DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!
….maybe the use of profanity would clue him in on the SERIOUSNESS of the situation. Wendy sighed, and went to call again- and the phone promptly died.
“Are… you… kidding….me?”
Wendy looked helplessly over to the kitchen counter attached to the wall, upon which sat the house phone, nestled right next to the knives (Knives?! Why hadn’t she tried STABBING the bloody thing?!). It was inaccessable now, as the rat was angrily pacing back and forth the ten foot gap between the island and the counter. There was no way she was going down there. Out of options, she looked over at Theresa, helpless. “Any ideas, Terr-Bear? How we’re going to get rid of King Rat here?”
The seven year old shook her head, then suddenly perked up. “The Rat King!” When her mother looked at her blankly, Theresa grinned. “The Rat King from the Nutcracker! Remember how he died? Clara killed him-”
“By hitting him with her shoe!” Wendy finished, clapping her hands. “You’re a genius, Theresa!”
“Do I get a cookie if this works?” Theresa asked as Wendy began to untie her left shoe.
“You’ll get ALL the cookies if this works,” Wendy promised, taking aim. She flung the shoe down, as hard as she could, aiming for the rat’s head. “DARNIT! Missed!” She took a deep breath. “Alright, one more chance…” She undid the right shoe, staring at the rat. Imagining herself as Travis Wood, she wound up, and let the shoe fly as hard as she could.
*SMACK!*
The footwear landed flush on the rat’s head, knocking it over, and Wendy whooped triumphantly, swinging her legs over the edge, ready to leap down, and run to the knives in case she needed to finish it off. Before she could go anywhere, however, the rat popped back up, and with an angry hiss, tore into the shoe, shredding it immediately. Wendy quickly swung her legs back up onto the island, looking over at Theresa.
“Well, your father got my tweet, so he should be home soon.” She hoped.
Theresa didn’t look pleased by the prospect of waiting for “soon”. “Where’s Chanticleer?” she asked, referencing the Thompson family cat. “He’d eat the ugly rat king…”
Wendy wasn’t so sure about that. The rodent was at least twice the size of her tabby, and judging by the way it continued to tear into her sneaker, at least twice as vicious too. She had a feeling that if Chanitcleer came looking for a meal, she’d end up looking for a new cat.
She looked around the island for anything else to throw, for once regretting tidying up the kitchen this morning. Nothing. All that could be done was to play the waiting game.
“Mom?” her daughter’s voice cut into her thoughts.
“Yes, Theresa?”
“This thing can’t climb, can it?”
Wendy gulped.
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