Return of Willard

If you remember, when we moved to the suburbs, we were greeted with open paws by the local rat population, whom we immediately started to kill – with varying degrees of success.  By August, after several high profile rat rubouts, most of their rat peeps had fled the premises, never to return.  Or so we thought. Continue reading

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Son of Willard

So with the power back on, we prepare to move in a couple of weeks later – on the second hottest day of the year (the first being our closing date). We begin to realize much to our horror that our late rodent friend (which I picked up by its desiccated tail, slipped into a ziplock bag and deposited into trash) was the patriarch of a seemingly vast family of rats, all of which were none too happy about our moving in. Now we were immediately considering a quick resale when by coincidence an article appeared in the Wall Street Journal (of all places) saying that rats were a growing problem in the posher suburbs, citing a case where some fancy housewife opened her viking wall oven in her Beverly Hills mansion, only to have a rat jump out and disappear into the adjoining great room. Continue reading