Gus and I both woke up at some hour in the middle of the night, and we could hear a squeaking noise. Still a little drunk and confused, I wondered aloud if that sound was the breakfast whistle?
It wasn't the breakfast whistle. First, it was about 3 AM. And as I would later learn, there is no such thing as a breakfast whistle.
The noise continued. It was inconsistent and every so often there was scratching. The noise was being made by a rat that was trapped somewhere nearby my head, most likely underneath the bed.
We discussed our options. Abandoning the room did not seem good. It was cold outside, and there were probably rats everywhere. I announced that I would take my mattress into the bathroom and lock myself inside. But Gus correctly pointed out that the bathroom was too small for this.
We could simply go back to sleep, suggested Gus. Perhaps that would work for him, but the rat was simply too close to my head to do this. I would never be able to rest as long as I could hear its cries and scratching.
We realized that we must pull out the bed and deal with the consequences. Perhaps it would be able to retreat back into it's hole. The worse outcome is that it would be free in our room, and in a foul mood. It might want to attack us, regardless of the fact that we are it's would-be liberators. I armed myself with a stool.
We were both on Gus's bed. I reached over and pulled on my bed. The bed moved, and then there was silence. This was the one thing we did not expect. I investigated. It was not under my bed.
The crying resumed. We realized now that it was coming from inside the wall.
Shaken and full of adrenaline, I went back to sleep. The rat eventually stopped crying. It must have died. However I could hear the scuttling of other rats, as they ran through their secret network of passages, so very close to my head.
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