Rat story.

So I call the landlord office. I think her name is Stacey. She's the one who answers the phone, but I think she's a little more than a receptionist. But I don't want to put it all on her, so I say, "Hi, is there someone there I can talk to about the rats?" I think the dichotomy of my subject and politeness catches her off guard, but she recovers and responds, "I'll let the super know." I'm ready for her. "Well actually I just spoke to the super. He woke me up this morning to drill a hole in my wall, and I told him that there was a rat right there in the hall waiting for me when I got home, and he said, 'yeah, the rats are really bad.'" A short pause, and then she cracked the fuck up. And I really couldn't blame her for laughing. Sometimes, the stupidity of others can be funny. She told me she'd take care of it, and I told her that the super probably isn't the right person to talk to. She assured me she knew who to talk to. Thirty minutes later, she calls me back to tell me someone would be there that day to take care of it.

A few days go by, and I do notice a decrease in rat activity in the trash/lobby area, but it could just as well be the cold and snow. The next day, I don't see any rats as I walk past the trash to the door of the building, but there is a cat sitting there. It's really cold out, but he looks perfectly content, sitting on his paws, and nodding hello. I hold the door open to see if he wants to come inside, but he just looks up at me as if to say, "what, you don't think I can open a door? If I want to come in, I'll come in." I walk up the stairs wondering if Stacey just called the local animal shelter and told them to bring over some cats.

Last night, again I don't see any rats as I walk past the trash. Then I get to the door. There, I find a pile of rats. Literally, a pile. Four or five dead rats just outside the door to the building. In a pile. It's as if they all drank the Kool-ade and held each other, waiting for the mothership.