Don't Judge Me, Beatrix Potter

One day, Bruce and Emmie let me sleep in.  When I came downstairs, Bruce had a very somber face.

"I saw a rat outside," he said gravely.

He went on to tell me that it was white, huge, and not too creepy.  But it was a problem that needed to be taken care of.

I knew what he meant.  But I love all animals, so I tried to make excuses.  "Maybe it was an escaped pet... Maybe there's a scientific lab somewhere nearby and PETA came along and freed all the animals."

Bruce looked at me sadly, and we didn't talk about it again.

Do you see him? Oh, rats.

Until today.  Emmie was napping, Bruce is at work, and the cat and I stood gazing out the patio door.  Then we saw an adorable grey and white whiskered creature with perky pinks ears nibbling in our garden.

After taking a photo, I opened the patio door, and he scurried away, under our fence and over into the neighbor's yard.

I called Bruce and told him.  Again, he repeated his stance that the pest must be eliminated.

"It's not like it's the 1300s and there's a plague going on," I pleaded.  (In fact, scholars now contend that rats were not the cause of the Black Death). I continued, "Rats are very smart; I just read an article about how they're gaining in popularity as pets."

I hate to think what Bruce is going to do about the rats.  What's the point? After all, we live in town, near fast food restaurants and apartment buildings with dumpsters.  When we lived in Chicago, there were rats, but somehow them scurrying about in alleys seemed more natural than our lush backyard.  I will admit that it sort of gives me the heebie-jeebies, despite how cute the little guy was.

Later, Emmie and I were sharing lunch when another varmint hopped on over, munching on my lawn.

Peter! Did you lose your coat again in Mr. McGregor's garden?

This time, I wheeled Emmie in her highchair closer to the door so we could see better.  "Aww!" I exclaimed.  "See the bunny? How cute!"  Emmie started tsk-tsking (that's the sound she makes when she sees bunnies, I don't know why, you can thank Bruce for that) and pointing at the rabbit.

We watched him for a while until he bounced away, white cottontail swishing behind him.

It made me pleased to be living in the country, where we are closer to nature - exactly the opposite feeling I had about the rat.

Which got me thinking.  Poor rats.  Perhaps they are unfairly persecuted, the pigeons of the small & furry family.   I know some people scorn any kind of beasts in their gardens, but rats seem to be disproportionately despised.  Why do I want to pet a bunny or feed a chipmunk an acorn, but the thought of a rat makes my skin crawl?

I don't know what Bruce is planning to do; I need to hear his logic before I jump on the death-to-rats platform.  I'll tell you what, though.  I never thought being a homeowner would turn us into killers.