Random Ramblings of a Reluctant Blogger

As I watched from the balcony a cat trying to hunt down a small rat, I couldn’t, but
help reminisce about my celebrated rat-hunting days. The apartment complex we
stayed in New Delhi had many of these furry visitors regularly. Early in the 70’s the mouse trap was the most ubiquitous method to entrap these rodents apart from the broomsticks and the ‘flying’ slippers. The stick pads and the pest controls were not quite heard of then. Little surprise that every day we kids saw someone with the contraption, a mouse and at times two trapped in it, walking with a swag to let the captured prey off in a distant field. 

I was the designated hitman in my house. It wasn’t due to any expertise, though I did
acquire it later, but for the fact that both my sisters would turn into squealing blobs the moment they spotted a rat. And my mother hated these vermins and most of the time my father was too busy with his office to worry about these little pests and then what else good are boys for! It fell upon me to either drive the intruders out of the house, guiding, goading or frightening it towards an open window or a door or entrap it. I did manage it well, more often than not, to drive it away. A few did fall to the well-timed blow of the
broomstick.

Momentous evening

My exalted reputation was gained one epoch-making evening. Dusk was just about to merge into the dark when I heard my sister scream. And that particular tone meant
only one thing – A rat had been spotted. My cousin, who was visiting us, and I had to take up the challenge. And we trooped into the room with all the WMD, a broom stick, a long stick, a mouse trap and a torch and closed the door. 

I quickly assumed command and told my cousin to open the window, which would
allow the rat to escape, if lucky. The room which the rodent had decided to explore was particularly tricky. On one corner was a big Godrej almirah, a massive piece of steel which would require at the very least eight strong men to move it. And diagonally opposite a fairly big wooden almirah stacked with books and LP records and equally difficult to move. A charpoy in the centre of the room, a study table and a chair. Usually, I would have moved the charpoy out of the way, but this day a lot of beddings and clothes were strewn on it. 

Experience had taught me that the rat would have ensconced itself between the wall and the leg of the charpoy. I spied it there and told my cousin to keep the mouse trap ready as I moved in from the opposite side to lure it away from its safe place. I poked with the stick and as it ran towards my cousin I shouted “get it, get it.” And for whatever reason he was not ready. As he saw the mouse running towards him, he screamed and dropped the mouse trap and the rodent quickly scurried below the steel almirah. 

And that was the trickiest part. There was just enough room below the almirah for a
broomstick to go in and I knew that even if we swished the broom the rat would stay put, but we had no choice. This time I was ready as my cousin bent down to prod the rat out. To our surprise it darted out, but again towards my cousin who just managed to take evasive action and hurled the broom hard. It did not catch the rodent but hit the table lamp on the study table which crash landed.

By now we both were shouting at each other as the panic-stricken rat ran hither and thither managing to dodge all kinds of missiles thrown. Fair to say there was more noise and action than result. And in one of the throw-anything-at-it moments I managed to land my slippers on it and it swooned. My cousin promptly went near it, mouse trap in hand, to scoop it up and in all the enthusiasm he failed to listen to me shouting “it is just feigning.” Now these rodents have this habit of ‘playing dead’ and they do it often to get away from the cats, though the cats are on to them. But not my cousin and as soon as he approached it jumped up and my cousin thinking he was being attacked jumped even harder shouting “Iyeeeeeeeh” and threw the mouse trap with all the force only for it to break. The rat by now had disappeared behind the bookshelf.

Another tricky manoeuvre was needed there. The mouse trap had outlived its use and we each had one part of it on hand and as we picked the broom and the stick we created enough racket prodding behind the shelf simultaneously, for the mouse to think it wasn’t safe there. The trick worked and it darted out, this time it hurried towards me. Now it was my turn to go “Iyeeaeeeh” and as I jumped, I let go off the broken piece of the mouse trap, which hit the ceiling and returned floor-bound with equally velocity, even as the rat, using my feet as its launch pad, decided to jump to its nearest safe point. The descending piece of wood and the ascending rat met midway and both hit the ground with some force. The wooden piece further splitting and knocking the vermin out for good. 

Engrossed as we were in our mission, we failed to hear the doorbell, the din outside.
Our worried neighbours hearing all the commotion and the clatter had decided to check in on us. And even as my mother sheepishly was explaining to them, my cousin and I proudly marched out from the war zone, a broken mouse trap and a dead rat in hand.