Warning: This Halloween post contains some freaky shit. And swears. Due to the freaky shit.
Am I a witch? Doubtful. I’m shitscared of spiders. Although… I am a cat person.
I can only think of one weird thing that I do in the way of witchy superpowers and it’s really stupid and you won’t think it’s a superpower at all; sometimes particular scenes from a movie will pop into my head over and over for a few days and then they actually come on the TV. But it’s a completely useless power because
A) who needs real premonitions of fake reality
B) I can’t make the movies I want to see come on
C) these days we have Netflix anyway.
But there have been other things that have made me start to wonder if there isn’t something supernatural going on. Specifically, the local wildlife seems to think I need a familiar.
Some you’ve met already: Brace yourselves/look away herpetophobes, ophidiophobes and fellow arachnophobes!
And some you haven’t met yet…
This guy came by too. He’s a tawny frogmouth – he looks a bit like an owl, doesn’t he?
We’ve had tawnies around before, though not very often. I LOVE THEM!
This new guy/girl would make a great familiar. I might name
him her Hedwig.
Then last January shit got serious. (You can still cut and run from this post, it’s not too late!)
One morning I kept finding all these little gecko-sized poos scattered through the house. I initially thought Homer Simpson had started up with his passive aggressive housemate B.S. again but J inspected the poo and said ‘that’s actually from a rat.’ Whaaaat?!?
It’s one thing to share the house with huntsman spiders, geckos, tree snakes frogs ants beetles moths mozzies and the occasional locust (even if the bloody thing crawled onto my bare shoulder and made me absolutely crap my pants) and be quite cool about it but at rats I DRAW THE LINE! Hordes of the bastards judging by the amount of ratshit; a dozen turds in one night? Even if it’s only one overachiever (on a ridiculously high fibre diet) this is unacceptable! But how did they get in?
We later discovered the boys had been playing in the guest room and left the balcony door open… all night. So the next night we made sure all the doors were locked, and figured that would keep the little buggers out.
I was walking through the house with the lights off on my way to check on the boys before bed (you’d think I’d’ve learned my lesson after the Freddo incident) and was just passing the fireplace when I heard… a noise. Instantly I whirled and turned the light on (maybe I did learn my lesson) and there was a freakin’ rat on the top of the laundry door frame looking at me. Perched there like Batman on a ledge. He must’ve heard me coming and climbed up high to get away from me – EEEK! Human! Batrat ran back down and disappeared behind the couch. Since I hadn’t seen him run into the rumpus room and I couldn’t hear him in the laundry I figured he was in the media room. I shut the sliding doors then went and got the trap and put it in there. Then I went to bed. I’m gonna git you sucka.
Next morning it was Rory’s birthday, but I got a pressie too! The chunt rat was dead. I hoped the poos I found were his but what are the chances only one rat came in?
Discovered a rat-shaped hole had been chewed through the flyscreen to the balcony… so that’s how they got out.
And the other one soon figured out it could chew its way IN, too. Within a week another three flyscreen doors had holes in, plus both the laundry windows. Arrrgghh! I hate letting them just run loose in my house, climbing on things with their ratty little feet and leaving shitty little turds everywhere. But it’s the middle of summer, we can’t stay locked up all the time. Damn those kids for throwing out the welcome mat!!!
Have to turn the lights on to walk around the house in the middle of the night now because I don’t want to step on a rat in the dark OMG YUCK YUCK YUCK
As we headed into February we left out traps baited variously with peanut butter, cornflakes, sunflower seeds and “fail safe” rat attractant and none of them worked. Every night I ensured the benches were spotless, crumbs swept, table wiped and all food put away. Even so one night the son of a bitch CHEWED A HOLE THROUGH MY BACKPACK to get at a still-sealed muesli bar I’d forgotten about. Shit!
We got all the flyscreens replaced (not my idea) and that very night Wormtail ignored the yummy peanut butter in the trap and instead chewed his way through two brand new wire screens to get to the balcony, when he then ate through several chairs to reach some soft-centred mud wasp larvae tucked up in their crunchy mud cocoons. Pretty hardcore! I don’t think I’d go to those lengths to get to a Caramello Koala. Not even if it was that time of the month and there were no Tim Tams.
Episode IV – A New Hope
March 1st. After nearly 2 months of guerilla (rat) warfare.
That Darn Rat was in the pantry last night, and discovered the Just Right cereal; chewed right through the cardboard box and the thick plastic packet. Apparently it IS just right! So tonight we reloaded the trap with it and hid the box. We were lying in bed just after lights out and heard a big bang, followed by a couple more clattering noises. I thought the bloody rat must’ve knocked something over, but J said the trap got him, and the banging around was the strangling rat trying to get out. I was like WHAT? It doesn’t snap their necks, killing them instantly? The last rat didn’t bounce around in there. He said yeah it did… he’d heard it even through the media room doors, while I’d heartlessly and maliciously slept through it.
Not – he is sleeping with the fushes. The house is ours again but I feel awful that the rat suffered, however briefly. J reckons this trap is still loads more humane than poison, and remembering Mum’s cat Sheba I strongly agree, but the thought of him stuck in there, desperately trying to free himself, is almost as bad. I just hope we don’t have any more intruders.
I didn’t think I could get any more grossed out after the rats – I was wrong.
You will not believe this but this morning Finn lifted his Thunderbirds 2 toy and underneath it was a dead cane toad.
Dead. On the rumpus room carpet.
… How the fuck did he even get in?
They can’t climb like frogs and they mostly come out at night. Mostly. It must’ve come in through the garage door the other night (I saw it open the next morning), crawled under the door into the house, and spent the last 3 days creeping ninja-style around the house before, dehydrated and over it, seeking shelter under Thunderbird 2. Maybe he was hoping for a rescue.
A cane toad is like the Queensland version of a gremlin; they don’t like daylight, they multiply in water, they kill things and will take over the world given half a chance. Though thankfully they haven’t yet learned how to handle a machine gun. Small mercies.
Just had a thought – we’re under siege by dangerous terrorists around Christmas time; are we in a Die Hard movie? Where’s John McClane when you need him?
Die Hard 6: Toadal Destruction!
I took a photo for proof, even though I don’t particularly wanna remember this.
The only house invader I will allow from now on is Santa. I’m quite happy for Santa to come round because he’s not likely to lurk on the wall behind the bathroom door and scare the crap out of me or hide in the couch and get sat on and decompose into the cushions or crawl under the couch and die and ruin my carpet and stink up the house.
Rory pointed out “It’s a good thing we don’t have any giraffes come in the house!” Yes, there’s that – there’s always an upside… like the fact I didn’t step on a half dead cane toad on the rumpus room carpet in the middle of the night. Kicking one up the bum with bare feet while taking the bins out one rainy night was bad enough, which is why I use a torch now or wear shoes when it’s raining. And mostly leave all the bins-taking-out to the husband.
Finn offered to fetch his golf clubs but NOPE to cane toad golf. I can’t condone cruelty to animals, even if they are native-wildlife-killing, family-pet-poisoning, ugly mardafarker introduced pests who break into my house and scare the shit out of my kids. Okay, fine, scare the shit out of me then. I used two dustpans to scoop him up and OHSHIT HE MOVED HE’S STILL ALIVE OMG and raced from the house to fling him into the garden.
*shakes self vigorously with eyes squeezed shut*
So, based on this evidence what do you think about the possibility of witchy goings on going on?
… Yeah nah I thought so. I think it’s less to do with me personally and more to do with the simple fact I live in Queensland. Hopefully we’ve seen the worst of it – #TOUCHINGWOODBANGINGONWOODRIGHTNOW
*BTW Post title is from a line from one of my all time favourite movies – The Fisher King. I just had to use it but I feel it warrants a little explanation, because I don’t want you filling in the wrong blanks. It’s where Parry (Robin Williams) has taken Jack (Jeff Bridges) to his home in the boiler room and is trying to be hospitable.
Parry: Want something to eat? Your stomach must be a real tabula rasa.
(digs around and finds some dodgy looking baked goods): I don’t know if these are raisins or ratshit. You can’t tell. (Offers Jack one)
Parry: Fruit pie?
Jack: (dry reaches)
It’s not me, like, deciding between the two or anything. I’m not, like, offering. I’m not putting them into any Halloween-themed cupcakes or… hmmm. Come to think of it that’s a great idea! To be served alongside the jelly brains, marshmallow bones and severed shortbread fingers. Yummy.