Last month, we would occassionaly see this small creature run across the floor. And for weeks, when I woke up, I would have to light a candle, open doors and windows and wait for the little fellow's smell to disapate.
We were afraid. Would he (she?) bite? Would the smell get worse, what of diseases? Would he invite his in-laws and cousins to move in?
I finally had to get rid of the rat. I went to the hardware store on Broadway and bought some sticky traps and a snap traps. I was reluctant because I really didn't want to hurt it. If I bought a humane trap, the animal control people would kill it anyway.
A house cat could have helped, but my wife has a strong allergy.
In the store, when I was standing in the aisle trying to decide between sticky traps and snap traps a young woman stopped by me and looked at me. I said that we have a rat and have to get rid of it. She said, "Do you have to kill it?"
I said the kitchen stunk from it and it could bring disease.
"Well," she replied, "It is just one rat and there are millions of them."
"No," I replied, "It's a creature and it has a life and feelings. I wish I didn't have to kill it."
When I went home and set the traps, I was still reluctant so I said to the rat, (though I was guessing it wasn't nearby), "Mr. rat, I don't want to kill you. Look, I am setting some traps, please go live somewhere else."
I checked the traps the next morning and they were untouched. But there was no smell either. I figured he would return the next morning. But no, It has been six weeks and he is gone.
Afterwards, I was reminded of a story I read decades ago from the Babylonian Talmud about a rabbi and nest of mice.
Rabbi Yehuda HaNassi was a perfect tzaddik, yet he suffered great pain. How did it begin? Through a deed of his. He was walking through the marketplace when a calf being led to the slaughter ran to him and hid under his cloak. He told the calf, "Go. For this you were created."
That is when his troubles began. An angel who witnessed the incident argued that since Rabbi Yehuda HaNassi had no compassion for an innocent animal's suffering, why shouldn't he have some suffering too.
And it ended through another deed. The rabbi's maid was sweeping the floor and found a nest of mice beneath the boards. She began to sweep them away, when he stopped her. "It is written," he said, "that His compassion is upon all of His works." That is when his suffering ceased.
My "plague of rodent" ended when I felt sorry for him. I wish all our problems could be solved so easily.
Yesterday, I had another dilema with an animal. Outside Barnes and Noble, some animal shelter had puppies and kittens up for adoption and I fell for a felix domesticus. I asked my wife if there was no way we could get it. My wife found him cute too, but unfortunately... her allergy. The answer was no.
I stayed out until dinner and when I returned, I found a large cat lying against our door and mewing plaintively.
I didn't want to disturb the cat and went to knock on the door of a new neighbor to see if it was their pet. Then I heard people calling and found out the cat belonged to apartment directly above us and wanted to get back home but couldn't figure out the right floor.
But her timing was impeccible.
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