Foot fetish of a freakin' mouse
Fetish (n): Anything to which foolishly excessive attention is given.
'Now in what context does this combine with a mouse; worse, who cares about his sexual preferences?', you may think. Pervert, not everything that is used in connection to sexuality started out that way. Coming back to the topic, there was this stupid rodent running around our apartment and our neighbour's about three weeks back. It's fine if food was on his mind, we'd allow him to visit once or twice provided he'd never come back. But his weird tendencies made us take drastic steps towards eradicating him from the face of the earth.
It would be better if you have a little background information on this issue. You see, mice/rats and my family don't have the most amicable of relationships. We kill them, they hate us [till they die, that is]. Dad and Mom have been brought up in settings that train you to hit the mouse on the head in a reaction time of point seven three of a second. It's tough not to hate such a caring and hospitable family. After the first nocturnal visit itself, the mouse finds a delicious piece of Mortein Rat Kill at every window. I'm told it contains ground cereal, some healthy stuff and the not-so-good-for-health rat poison. Atleast we've become more compassionate of late. A couple of years saw the mouse trap being used for any and every occassion. Well, that's a separate story by itself.
The Rat Trap Hall of Fame includes personalities that are inducted if they can avoid personal injury [and ofcourse, death] but still get away with the booty. The list is pretty short - about three names. The all-time great was a big problem. Let's call him Melchior [ I just like the name; not getting out personal frustration on any of my friends]. It was the summer of '99 and our building was being painted on the outside. The bamboo scaffolding provided the rats with an excellent venue for their Extreme Sports Olympics. Melchior by far seemed the bravest, strongest but also the smartest - unlike Moose from Archies comics. On his first visit, he came into the kitchen and gnawed at every damn thing that was solid and edible. The trap was set up the following night with a tempting piece of chicken et al. The old man of the house has a habit of making sure it's the last and best meal of the rat. This Melchior fellow comes along, pushes the trap till it goes off, eats the chicken and leaves after gnawing at a few more things. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, the trap is set again; this time with a piece of fried fish topped with ghee. Same rat, same trick. This got more irritating than frustrating.
Innovative solutions come forth when confronted with innovative problems, I guess. Dad does a little analysis, scratches the head [you'll be surprised, it helps] and comes up with a winner. He sets the trap on the grills, next to the flower pots. That forces Mechyboy to sit on a support [trap] and eat/gnaw the bait. It works. Apparently, Melchior's family members are stupid; we get rid of half of their Olympics' squad - eight rats in nine days.
Now the new guy [ Let's call this dude Xerxes (pronounced Zerksis). Awesome name] walks into our house in blissful ignorance of its past history. He announces his arrival by nibbling at my Mom's finger at the unearthly hour of four in the morning. Mother dear gets up thinking its a bad dream and so drops off to sleep again. That same morning I get up to a crazy barking session organised by the colony dogs - and a tickly sensation near my right toe. I move the bedsheet about, to make sure it wasn't a piece of fabric; but it's shadow surprisingly moves in the opposite direction. And then I, through the cobwebs of sleep, realise it's Xerxes.
Sitting cutely next to my foot, Xerxes flashes me a smile and dashes for the window. I emit two sharp yelps, jump on the sofa and ensure safety. [Hey that takes courage too.] Dad, who was sleeping beside me, puts the light on and sweeps the room with a swift eye. All he gets to see is the tip of Xerxes' tail.
Consider this: One - there's a rat in your house. Two - he has the audacity to nibble at your toes. Three - food doesn't seem to interest him [except bananas, I'll explain that later]. With all due respect to coincidence, the case is dismissed and Mortein Rat Kill is out at once. It is then we realise Xerxes has also taken off some skin from my sister's toes. Now that, the thick skin one finds on the toes, is what he seems to be after. Frivolous foot fetish.
So we all cover our bodies from head to toe as a preventive measure and sleep as if we were enacting a morgue scene from a popular horror show. Halfway through the night, I begin to cook inside. Caring a damn about a mad rat on the loose, I cleverly spread a bedsheet on the sofa and go to sleep. They say 'Once bitten twice shy' but oh the feeling of direct fan breeze! Just two hours of fitful sleep is all I get before I feel a familiar scratch on the toe. Light from the tubelight reveals it's good ol' Xerxes perched on one cushion, waiting for me to return [with my irresistible toes]. Is he retarded, is he possessed? But like that matters when your sleep pattern is spoilt by night activity [try not to think out of context]. And then my toe begins to burn. Close inspection reveals about one square centimetre of precious thick skin is missing.
Next day is a more serious Take Two of morgue scene and a new pack of Mortein Rat Kill. It's scary when a rat goes for your toes but not the food. That reminds me; he always had a little fresh skin and then returned for fresh bananas - the only other thing he touched in our house. Maybe he was a health-conscious guy. The third night, he infiltrates 'fortress bedroom' again but Mom is fortunately a light sleeper and chases him out. Thats the last we saw of him, reason being all the rat poison went missing that night. Out of curiosity, I check the back of the first rat poison pack and solve the mystery in two seconds - it said 'manufactured and packed in Ulhasnagar'. Man, that place doesn't spare anything.
Since then, everything's back to normal, the skin on our toes has grown back. Rats have ceased to worry us since then. And the dogs of our colony lived yappily ever after.
'Now in what context does this combine with a mouse; worse, who cares about his sexual preferences?', you may think. Pervert, not everything that is used in connection to sexuality started out that way. Coming back to the topic, there was this stupid rodent running around our apartment and our neighbour's about three weeks back. It's fine if food was on his mind, we'd allow him to visit once or twice provided he'd never come back. But his weird tendencies made us take drastic steps towards eradicating him from the face of the earth.
It would be better if you have a little background information on this issue. You see, mice/rats and my family don't have the most amicable of relationships. We kill them, they hate us [till they die, that is]. Dad and Mom have been brought up in settings that train you to hit the mouse on the head in a reaction time of point seven three of a second. It's tough not to hate such a caring and hospitable family. After the first nocturnal visit itself, the mouse finds a delicious piece of Mortein Rat Kill at every window. I'm told it contains ground cereal, some healthy stuff and the not-so-good-for-health rat poison. Atleast we've become more compassionate of late. A couple of years saw the mouse trap being used for any and every occassion. Well, that's a separate story by itself.
The Rat Trap Hall of Fame includes personalities that are inducted if they can avoid personal injury [and ofcourse, death] but still get away with the booty. The list is pretty short - about three names. The all-time great was a big problem. Let's call him Melchior [ I just like the name; not getting out personal frustration on any of my friends]. It was the summer of '99 and our building was being painted on the outside. The bamboo scaffolding provided the rats with an excellent venue for their Extreme Sports Olympics. Melchior by far seemed the bravest, strongest but also the smartest - unlike Moose from Archies comics. On his first visit, he came into the kitchen and gnawed at every damn thing that was solid and edible. The trap was set up the following night with a tempting piece of chicken et al. The old man of the house has a habit of making sure it's the last and best meal of the rat. This Melchior fellow comes along, pushes the trap till it goes off, eats the chicken and leaves after gnawing at a few more things. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, the trap is set again; this time with a piece of fried fish topped with ghee. Same rat, same trick. This got more irritating than frustrating.
Innovative solutions come forth when confronted with innovative problems, I guess. Dad does a little analysis, scratches the head [you'll be surprised, it helps] and comes up with a winner. He sets the trap on the grills, next to the flower pots. That forces Mechyboy to sit on a support [trap] and eat/gnaw the bait. It works. Apparently, Melchior's family members are stupid; we get rid of half of their Olympics' squad - eight rats in nine days.
Now the new guy [ Let's call this dude Xerxes (pronounced Zerksis). Awesome name] walks into our house in blissful ignorance of its past history. He announces his arrival by nibbling at my Mom's finger at the unearthly hour of four in the morning. Mother dear gets up thinking its a bad dream and so drops off to sleep again. That same morning I get up to a crazy barking session organised by the colony dogs - and a tickly sensation near my right toe. I move the bedsheet about, to make sure it wasn't a piece of fabric; but it's shadow surprisingly moves in the opposite direction. And then I, through the cobwebs of sleep, realise it's Xerxes.
Sitting cutely next to my foot, Xerxes flashes me a smile and dashes for the window. I emit two sharp yelps, jump on the sofa and ensure safety. [Hey that takes courage too.] Dad, who was sleeping beside me, puts the light on and sweeps the room with a swift eye. All he gets to see is the tip of Xerxes' tail.
Consider this: One - there's a rat in your house. Two - he has the audacity to nibble at your toes. Three - food doesn't seem to interest him [except bananas, I'll explain that later]. With all due respect to coincidence, the case is dismissed and Mortein Rat Kill is out at once. It is then we realise Xerxes has also taken off some skin from my sister's toes. Now that, the thick skin one finds on the toes, is what he seems to be after. Frivolous foot fetish.
So we all cover our bodies from head to toe as a preventive measure and sleep as if we were enacting a morgue scene from a popular horror show. Halfway through the night, I begin to cook inside. Caring a damn about a mad rat on the loose, I cleverly spread a bedsheet on the sofa and go to sleep. They say 'Once bitten twice shy' but oh the feeling of direct fan breeze! Just two hours of fitful sleep is all I get before I feel a familiar scratch on the toe. Light from the tubelight reveals it's good ol' Xerxes perched on one cushion, waiting for me to return [with my irresistible toes]. Is he retarded, is he possessed? But like that matters when your sleep pattern is spoilt by night activity [try not to think out of context]. And then my toe begins to burn. Close inspection reveals about one square centimetre of precious thick skin is missing.
Next day is a more serious Take Two of morgue scene and a new pack of Mortein Rat Kill. It's scary when a rat goes for your toes but not the food. That reminds me; he always had a little fresh skin and then returned for fresh bananas - the only other thing he touched in our house. Maybe he was a health-conscious guy. The third night, he infiltrates 'fortress bedroom' again but Mom is fortunately a light sleeper and chases him out. Thats the last we saw of him, reason being all the rat poison went missing that night. Out of curiosity, I check the back of the first rat poison pack and solve the mystery in two seconds - it said 'manufactured and packed in Ulhasnagar'. Man, that place doesn't spare anything.
Since then, everything's back to normal, the skin on our toes has grown back. Rats have ceased to worry us since then. And the dogs of our colony lived yappily ever after.
posted by heston at 1:17 AM
2 Comments:
hey good one
keep it up
a nice one :)
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