Living in Hawaii has obvious benefits and some not so obvious disadvantages to those who spend only a few days or even weeks here in paradise.
One night we had an unexpected visitor in our house. We had heard tales of the rats. We had even seen a few eating the oranges out of our orange tree in the backyard. We had set a few traps on the fence and hadn't had problems, until one night.
I have no pictures of the following story, which I posted on my blog just after it happened. This is what I wrote...
We were just about to go to bed. I went into the kitchen for one last thing. I heard a scurry on the other side of the bar. I thought to myself, "I just saw Jake (our dog) in the bedroom, and that doesn't sound like Jake, anyway."
Then I see it, a big, fat RAT. It runs under the counter and slips behind the stove. I scream for my husband. He comes running. I tell him what happened. He goes outside and gets one of the rat traps from the fence.
In the meantime I stand guard with the broom so it can't get out of the kitchen. Jake, our Chesapeake Bay Retriever, helps me. When my husband gets back we try to decide where the rat would go. We can't leave the rat trap in front of the stove. There is a chance one of the girls would set it off, and those traps are huge.
He pulls the stove away from the wall and doesn't see a rat. He asks, "are you sure you saw a rat?" I had no doubts. A 14 inch rat (from head to tail) is not my imagination. He opens the drawer underneath the stove (which thankfully has nothing in it) and stares into the eyes of the RAT. He instinctively slammed the drawer.
We deliberate on the situation for awhile. O.K., it's getting intense. We get a golf club. My husband's plan is to poke the rat up against the wall, then kill it by smashing it with a golf club. Jake and I stand guard with the broom in case the rat makes a break for it. Our job is to keep it in the kitchen, and if it gets out, run after it to see where it goes.
The rat will not stay against the wall. He almost jumps onto the counter. Then he makes a break for it. I start screaming. I swat it into the kitchen once. He scurries. My husband is batting at him with the golf club. Jake is running around trying to eat him.
I am still screaming. I hit him again with the broom, and again. Still screaming. Still batting. Still running around trying to eat him.
The rat dodges to the left and runs into the play area. He is holed up behind a bean bag chair. Or so we think. Jake and I stand guard while my husband yanks up the bean bags. He was nowhere.
After an hour of searching, our best guess is that he escaped through a cracked screen behind the bean bags.
Don't want to do that again.