Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Take Your Pants Down...

Deadly home invader

"An old rat is a brave rat"

French proverb

I was finally getting comfortable with my surroundings.  The blackouts, the mosquitoes, the dog that barks all friggin' night for no good reason, the Buddhist temple that starts ringing a gong at 6am every morning, the school kids screaming through my window, the rice and curry for 3 meals a day, the speaking of pigeon English all the damn time, living right off of a highway, being stared at all the time, having an uncomfortable bed, never leaving my house past sundown - they all stopped bothering me a few days ago.  I was finally getting really, truly comfortable with my way of life.

Then a rat attacked me in my bathroom.  I won't say that the little bastard entirely flushed away nearly a month of acclimation to my Sri Lankan abode, but he sure did his best to unnerve me about walking around with any confidence anymore.

A couple nights ago, I was experiencing what could only be described as an unprecedented level of focus and energy.  After an extremely productive day of protecting the rights of humans everywhere, I continued to work well into the night with a fervor for my work I have not experienced since... well, ever.  While job searching, I was engaged in a well-argued and riveting conversation with my worthy intellectual opponent Jen, editing a paper I'm trying to get published in a law journal, and doing some quick research on Sri Lankan criminal law in anticipation of the next day's drafting session.  I was in the g d zone.  Eventually the hour grew late, and my diligent hydration schedule caught up to me.  It was time for a bathroom break (ominous thunderclap).

Wearing my normal sleepy-time outfit of tattered gym shorts and equally tattered tshirt, I donned my less than protective Nike sandals and headed to the restroom unprepared for the fate about to befall me (lighting strike, another ominous thunderclap).  I innocently skipped into the bathroom, humming a jolly tune, and went about my dirty sinful business.  As I was ever so carefully returning my vulnerable bits to the safety of my trousers, I heard a rustle at the window situated not half a foot above the toilet.  It was more than a breeze, and Primal Eric went into DEFCON 3 to quickly assess the situation.  In a snap I made judgments:

Noise, Assess Noise, Rustle, Rustle at Window, What Rustles at a Window, People, Its a Person - Assess, Second Floor Window, Not a Person, Re-asses, Animals Rustle at Window, What Animal Goes to Second Floor Window, Too Large for Lizard, Not Lizard, Assess, Bird, Too Late at Night for Bird Activity, Assess... oh fuck me its a....

And just as my puny little brain put the pieces together, a giant honkin river rat comes flying through my window.  I thank Buddha that I wasn't going number two as I watched the rat crash down onto the toilet, freak out, jump three feet across the room into my shower area, and then proceed to look me in the eye and aggress into a full-on charge at my exposed little tootsies.  Now, I might not be tough, but damn it all I'm smart, and my fight or flight mode kicked in like nobody's business.  The next 20 or 30 seconds were a flurry of perfectly executed chess moves between me and my intruder friend.  He went left, I went right.  He spun back around the toilet, I shuffled around the other side.  He went for the garbage can, I kicked it out of his way.  And then he made a crucial error - he forgot that I can jump too.  As he doubled back against me and went for the door, I saw the perfect opportunity to effect my exit and seal up the little bastard in the process.  I dove for the hallway, flinging my unathletic Jewish frame towards sweet freedom, snatching the door shut behind me right as he reached the precipice of escape.  I tell ya, it was a chess match of competitors and he was the Kasparov of rats.

But they don't call me Eric "Deep Blue" Feldman just cause I got pretty eyes.  Mentally drained and heart racing, I looked back at the door just in time to see it thud half open and closed again.  Now of course I was convinced Kasparov turned into a 10 foot tall bouncer rat with huge biceps and a mom tattoo, his big red eyes unblinking and his pliable ears pressed tightly against the door jam, waiting for me to approach so he could blast the plywood off its hinges sending Eric flying dramatically across the hallway.  Well, I certainly wasn't going to fall for that, so I walked away, figuring I'd just let Kasparov sleep it off in the bathroom for the night.   If he got in there, he could probably get back out.  Best let him find his own way home, or at the very least let Supervisor deal with him in the morning. 


Now sufficiently shaken and quite awake despite the late hour, I returned to my desk in the hopes of waiting out the rat until morning.  My criminal law research seemed less immediate.  My editing, unnecessary.  Even riveting conversation wasn't going to bring me back from the brink - no, the only way I was going to be comfortable was knowing that Kasparov had taken his leave.  I let about 20 minutes fall off the clock, heroically laced up my New Balance shitkickers and took a step into the hallway...tiptoeing across the room, I listened for scratching on the door lock or heavy rat breathing.  Nothing.  Maybe the nightmare was over.  Not yet brave enough to open the bathroom door, I gave a soft knock to see if perhaps he would answer.  Only after the third rap against the jam did I realize that this was ridiculous and that I was, by all accounts, a giant pansy.  Still too scared to overcome my shame though, I returned to my room and decided to hide under my bed sheet.  This would all look a lot better in the morning.

A few fitful hours later, I awoke to my normal alarm clock of screaming school children and echoing Buddhist propaganda.  I had made it through the night.  Recon on the bathroom showed that Kasparov had indeed fled, clearly bested by his opponent of superior in wit and strength.  But while I may have won the battle, I fear that my devilish friend may have won the psychological war...I don't think I'll be wearing sandals into the bathroom at night anymore.

Or using the toilet.