vermin

sitting on the sofa, typing. half talking to trev and half playing freecell. over the top of my laptop screen, i see movement in the kitchen. a medium-sized rat strolls his ass - not scurries, not runs, STROLLS - through my kitchen.

he sniffs thoughtfully. stops. raises himself on his hind legs to take a deeper sniff. spies me moving - sitting up in shock and incredulity at the cojones on this motherfucker - in the corner of his eye and u-turns, then jogs away, deep in thought.

it's tough, being a rat. you have to live from the trappings of others, are viewed worldwide (except for that crazyass temple in india) as vermin, are in constant fear for your life. people see you and try to stomp on you. trap you with peanut butter and cheese (or banana bread, in steph's case) and hope that your spine snaps when you're ensnared.

i heard that fucking bitch tap-dancing on the smashed cardboard box i left in the living room last night. it was so loud i actually woke up, which, as trevor pointed out, is impressive. i think he also knocked my fucking mosquito lamp down, which means this bitch thinks this is his home, all crawling all over my shit. i thought it was the trucks rumbling by, which make my floor shake, but that's never knocked it down before.

i bet my crazyass neighbors hand-fed him under the generous crack in my door. it's probably their nastyasses that drew him here in the first place. bitches.

vermin! i live in a house filled with vermin.