Long ago I lived in an old house in Dallas which was plagued by noisy little rats.
Those buggers drove me nuts, gnawing, chewing, fighting in the walls and attic. One trick they had was rattling the electrical conduit which ran across the attic joists just over my bed. I finally tied a high-intensity light to the purlin braces, aimed at that very spot. Then I strung extension cords the length of the attic, down the trapdoor, through the kitchen, down the hall to my bedroom. That night, when the conduit rattled, I leaped into action, fearlessly plugging in the cord! The rats were frozen in the sudden high-intensity glare! Ha- Ha! Who loves ya, baby? A moment later, the rattling continued as before. Damn rats.
I found a bag of flour ripped open on the pantry shelf. Time to escalate! I had an old muskrat trap that had belonged to my brother, a Victor Stop-Loss leg-hold,which I set on the shelf, buried in flour, in front of the flour bag. The rat would have to climb over the trap to get to the flour.
Next morning there was a rat, very much alive, trapped by one leg, glaring at me with its nasty little eyes. Now what?
I've never told anyone the truth about what I did next, because I've always been a little embarrassed.
I was reluctant to shoot my .22 in the house, for fear the neighbors would call the SWAT team. So I lashed a hunting knife onto the end of a fireplace poker, to make a sort of harpoon, or , I prefer to think, assagai. The job had to be done, so I gathered my resolution and charged into the pantry, plunging the assagai into the very heart of the foul beast.
27 years later I still remember the surprising density and resistance of the rat's body, and how it thrashed and squirmed as I ground and twisted the blade into it's body until it finally fell still.
Removing the bloody corpse from the trap, I hung it from a string and suspended it from the pantry ceiling, as a warning for the others. Yes, I really did. Then I reset the trap.
I had to re-think my reluctance to shoot my .22 in the house. I bought some shot loads for my lever-action Marlin 39A, and tried one out by shooting into a big box full of styrofoam in the hall. Of course, the noise wasn't that bad, and no SWAT team showed up. But the spent case stuck in the chamber, and had to be cleared with the cleaning rod. Well, that was no good. Damned if I'm going into combat with a single-shot rifle.
Back to the gun store for a box of .22 shorts. I think I fired an experimental shot into the dirt of the crawl space. From that 24 inch barrel, the shot was so quiet I could hear the hammer fall. The noise level was similar to that of an air rifle. I loaded the tubular magazine full.
The next morning, I had another rat in the trap. One round from the Marlin put paid to him, and the war was on in earnest.
I trapped and shot several more rats in that old trap, until it literally fell apart. Then I bought a regular rat trap, and continued the campaign.
The Marlin became my constant companion. I ate with it. I slept with it. I would burst into the kitchen with it, trying to surprise the enemy. I patrolled the attic with it. I even took it to the toilet.
The rats liked to rustle and gnaw inside the wall, right next to the toilet. That was frustrating, because all I could do was bang on the wall, and I think that just amused them. One day I heard noise from under the bathtub, which was raised on a 2x4 platform. From my porcelin hunting stand, I sent two or three rounds under the tub, to unknown effect.
I remember how the rats would gnaw inside the wall, or under the floor, right by my bed. It sounded like they were there in the room with me. I would reach out from under the covers to where the Marlin leaned against the bedpost. I would then thump the rifle butt on the floor, buying myself a minute or two of peace.
I kept the kitchen scrupulously clean of any food residue. Dirty dishes I kept in the refrigerator, bread in a secure cabinet. I would always clean up BEFORE I ate, so my food was often cold. One day in the shower, I found teeth marks on the soap. I was denying them food. But they brought in pecans from the trees outside. Stalemate.
One evening I was in the kitchen, with some music playing on the stereo. Getting into the beat, I was drumming with my hands on the wall, which must have startled one of my little room-mates. Suddenly a rat EXPLODED from a paper grocery bag on the floor to my left. I saw it take refuge in the corner behind the bag as I grabbed the Marlin.
Blam!-ka-chink-Blam!-ka-chink! I levered a couple rounds through the bag. The rat flushed and dashed across the floor and under a free standing cabinet. More shots fired from the hip, and the rat dashed right past my feet, disappearing behind the stove. I recall twisting the rifle awkwardly and getting off a downward-directed shot as it ran past. I sent a round behind the stove (bad idea- it was a gas stove), and again the rat dashed across the kitchen. Shooting from the hip, I got off a couple more rounds as the rat disappeared under the sink, and through a small hole into the crawl space. (I immediately nailed a piece of 1x4 over the gap.)
I've always thought I could have got him with shot loads, but that long-barreled rifle, loaded with .22 shorts, just couldn't get on top of such a small, fast moving critter at such close range.
As I recall, I trapped and killed seven rats before achieving Victory. I wish I could say it was the Marlin that won me the war, but neither the rifle, the traps, nor even the high-intensity light were decisive. No I finally contracted a Strategic Alliance with a homeless cat.
Amazing thing: within a couple days of bringing the cat home, peace reigned, and I was never again bothered by rats.
..I once had the pleasure of living in an attic apartment one winter and hearing the birth,baby,adult life cycle of these critters in the walls about 2 feet above my head...if I close my eyes I can still hear the squeels,snarls, chewing sounds and fights these monsters had.I notified the landlord and,come spring,we baited them with peanut butter and he proceeded to snipe them with a daisy air rifle one after another....stupid city squirrels,they walked into death one after another...he got over a dozen the first day alone,big fat garbage eaters...upon inspection,they had chewed themselves an entrance under the eaves and did considerable damage to his crackerbox slum dwelling,er,apartment...but,culling the herd seemed to work...I'm outta there now,in summer the un-a.c.'ed rooms reached a balmy 120 degrees...
