The Intruder

When Douglas first found the small rodent hole under the wall of his garage, he thought it was cute that a wild thing had taken a liking to his yard. But after only a day that became annoyance when he found multiple entrances around the perimeter. He dutifully filled them up. “All part of maintaining the landscape,” he told himself.

When Monday rolled around and he left for work he saw that the hole had been re-opened and enlarged slightly. Scattered in the small arc of freshly dug dirt at the entrance he saw traces of gravel from under the garage floor. With a sardonic laugh he put his briefcase in the car, pulled down the shovel, rolled up his sleeves and made short work of the intruder’s handiwork. And that was good for about 48 hours.

On Wednesday, he went out to refill the birdbath and discovered another tell tale arc had replaced the one he had destroyed. Only this time it was bigger – more dirt and rocks were scattered in a wider pattern. Douglas stomped to the garage and pulled out a bag of topsoil along with his shovel and rake. Finished, he surveyed the small mound of fresh earth sloped up against the wall of the building, totally obliterating any sign of the entrance. He carefully raked the ground smooth, picking up the larger rocks and tossing them over the fence into the alley. With a jaunty whistle he returned his tools to their hooks and went about his business.

Thursday morning dawned and Douglas was in the kitchen waiting for the coffee pot to finish gurgling. He casually looked out the window into the backyard and let out a yelp.

“Oh my Gawd!” he cried. Even though it had rained over night, his visitor had re-opened the entrance. Douglas felt like he was looking at a landing beacon to a lost airliner, the arc centered on a yawning hole. The presence of gravel and concrete mixed in the almost two feet tall mound was much more pronounced.

“This is getting personal,” he muttered. “Damn rodent!” On his way home from work he stopped off to buy a dozen rat poison cakes.

Friday, Douglas overslept so he skipped making coffee. Dressed for his day and briefcase in hand, he was locking the back door and calculating how far out of his way he needed to go for a Starbucks, when he remembered to check the wall. He pocketed the keys and tip-toed to the garage. He steeled himself to view the remains of his intruder, then stepped around the corner and stopped. And gulped.

Last night, he had carefully placed the cakes at regular intervals along the wall. This morning, the hole was the biggest yet, the mound now higher than ever. But what caught his attention was the neatly stacked pyramid of poison cakes at the edge of the grass. Without thinking he counted them. Yes – all twelve were all there. Douglas started to sweat.

Quietly he retreated to the safety of his car. When he got to Starbucks, he ordered extra shots.