Bad Ceiling

Several months ago, Chach started complaining about going to bed. “I hate bed,” he’d say. “I hate the ceiling. BAD ceiling. Hit the ceiling mommy.” And I would pretend to punch the ceiling for him. “You be nice, you bad ceiling,” I would say. “I scared my room, mama. Bad ceiling,” he would cry. This went on for several weeks. I looked. His ceiling is fine. It’s actually quite nice and new. Seems fine. Nothing wrong with the ceiling that I could see.

So the nice mom in me held on for a few weeks of kindness. Then the mean mom moved in and started saying things like, “Nothing is wrong with your ceiling! Now got to sleep!”

Fast forward a month or so.

It’s three A.M. and for some random reason Gid is up in the night. This never happens. Like hasn’t happened in six months. So I cuddle him for a few minutes and head back to my bed. As I lay there trying to sleep. I hear it. I hear…

Bad Ceiling.

*scratch* *scratch* *scratch*

Right above my head.

*scurry* *scurry* *scurry*

Grabbing Peter’s hand, “Wake up! Do you hear that?”

*PATTER* *PATtter* *patter*

From one side of the ceiling to the other.

Yep. We certainly did have ‘bad ceiling’

The next morning I called pest control. I tell Sheriff “I think we might have a,” whispering,” r.a.t.” His response? “A rat? No problem. We have rats everywhere in Bangladesh. In the house, outside of the house. They are everywhere. No problem.” “Well in America, we certainly DO NOT have rats ‘everywhere.’ I can’t live with something in the ceiling. Ah!” He laughed at me. “You call pest control then, “ he says. “I already did.”

Out come two men to my house. With a big metal latter and a broken tool box to look for our attic entrance. They find the entrance, in Roo’s walk in closet, has been painted shut. So they have to x-acto in open. Meanwhile, I am trying to keep her out of the upstairs and brush of the questions of what the men are doing here. “Uh. They’re just checking some thing’s out.” I tell ya, having a jibber jabber, question asking, very persistent little person for a daughter can be tricky.

Down come the men. “Yes madam. You have rats. “

Kill. Me. Now. These are the very last words I want to hear. There are a lot of things here I don’t like, but tolerate. It’s VEEEERRRRYYYYY hot a lot of the year, the pollution is almost unbearable, we don’t have a car, I have to dress in a cape to go anywhere, the mosquitos are MORE than I can handle. But this! This? This is the worst thing for me.

If you don’t know this about me. I have a HUGE fear of rats. It’s genetic. See genetics works like this. If your parent hates something. So do you. Your dad a certain team? So do you. Your mom loves a certain flower? So do you. See? Well, my genetics are like this. My dad hates rats, and so do I. (and now my kids are hot on the genetic trail – sorry) Hates is probably not a strong enough word. Despises? They horrify him? Not sure. But it’s bad. And like it or not, I’ve got it bad. I think all of my siblings have it. We HATE rats!

Oh yeah. I think I already wrote about the one I saw on the street and the one in the Chinese restaurant. Well. It’s a theme. Rats = Bad or, ‘bad ceiling’ as the case may be.

So I say to the pest control guy, “How many do you think.” “Not too many, not too much dropping up there.” Help me! He says, “We’ll get them though. We put best bait we have up there. Peanut butter.” Hmmm? Seems like when a rabid rodent is trying to eat my children alive in the night (or so it seems) you could do better than peanut butter!

“You’re from the Philippines, right?” I ask. “You have many rats, right? Well in America, we don’t. I cannot have rats. You don’t understand. PLEASE get them out!!” He laughed at me too! Hurumph!

“We will be back tomorrow. I think they jumping off palm tree, onto roof, and into hole in roof.” Thanks for the comfort, sir. Sheesh. So, I swallow my fear and brave the second night of knowing about bad ceiling. Around 11 p.m., I am quite sure I hear a very loud *THWACK!*

The next day the men return. “I think I heard a trap in the night.” “Good,” he responds. Good? Not so good for me. “Sir, if there is one up there, I don’t want to see it. Please don’t show it to me. Just let me know if you found one or not. But DO NOT show it to me.”

Ten minutes later…”Madam. We got one.” “Great!” (I think?) This is where is gets bad. His partner, who doesn’t speak English and didn’t hear my request, holds up a clear plastic grocery sack. High in the air, like he just caught a big trout or something. A big dead black/gray rat is in the bag. Just the way the weight of the body is making the bag sag grosses me out. And I can see it! And it’s terrible! ‘I DON’T WANT TO SEE IT! AHHHHH” But. I did. I saw it. “Big rat madam. Very big. 8 or 10 inches.” Wahhhhh-hhh-hhhh.

Bad ceiling.

They set two more traps and didn’t catch anymore. I still need to get gardening out here to trim the tree. Lesson learned? Listen to your little ones. I feel SO bad that I ignored Chach. Here he was, very possibly, hearing this VERY scary noise at night. Really. It was very loud. It scared me to death. It wasn’t a quiet noise at all. Anyway, I feel bad I was short with him and didn’t listen to what he was trying to tell me. I don’t think I even asked what was bad about the ceiling. The man said he thought it had been up there for quite a long time considering the amount of dropping for just one rat.

Sorry Chach. I hope you don’t need too much therapy over this one. I think I might though.

I almost took a picture for you. But really? It was more than I could do. It was bad. Bad ceiling.