Yeah, ok, it wasn't TECHNICALLY my birthday, but since my birthday is ACTUALLY on Monday -- a very uncelebratory sort of day around here -- we decided to haul a couple of friends to dinner at Carrabba's on Saturday (because we had gift certificates for Carrabba's - thanks, Uncle Charlie!). Evil Book Lady and her husband were, as always, the best company, and they gave me a Border's card (which was spent immediately after dinner), a cookbook from Epcot's Food and Wine Festival (we have to go to that again! One day...) and a bottle of wine they picked up in Germany (which I'm torn about, because I want to taste it and I want to keep it because it's pretty). All in all, a very nice evening. (Oh, and she replaced my lost signed copy of An Ill Wind -- thank you again!)
This was a definate step up from the beginning of the day.
For several months now, we've been hearing "something" in the attic space. We have one of these weird giant rooflines that creates a lot of space under the roof that really isn't useable for storage. It's hard to get into. Anyway, The Husband has not heard these noises, despite my constant calling to him to come here. Finally, about a month or so ago, he was in the bedroom and I heard "What the hell?" It sounded like full fledged WAR in the ceiling. We were sort of hoping it was a racoon, but Saturday morning, the Husband crawled up into the tiny storage space above our closet to discover -- rats. Or, more accurately, rat poo. Lots of rat poo.
Yeah. Raining down in the closet. Weeeee.
We rescued some old story magazines I had stored up there, as well as The Husband's comics box, and installed some electronic repellers in hopes the rats will vacate. Poison isn't really an option. The last thing I want is dead rat putrifying in my roof as we climb out of winter and the tempterature goes up (and the humidity). We shall see.