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Rat! Oops ... I mean Mr Commissioner
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Have have these little, cuddly rodents ever done to you, huh?
I’m staring at my computer table, where I made the mistake of leaving a packet
of peanuts overnight. Now the bag has a hole, and tiny scraps of foil and bits of
nuts are scattered nearby. I immediately know what it means: mice. (Unless I
were the government, in which case I’d shout, “aha! Communists!”)
At this point, some Filipinos would probably rush in to prevent my saying the
furry culprit’s name aloud in Tagalog. You see, in this country it’s a belief that
you should always refer to household mice – daga – as mabait, kind ones.
I’m staring at my computer table, where I made the mistake of leaving a packet
of peanuts overnight. Now the bag has a hole, and tiny scraps of foil and bits of
nuts are scattered nearby. I immediately know what it means: mice. (Unless I
were the government, in which case I’d shout, “aha! Communists!”)
At this point, some Filipinos would probably rush in to prevent my saying the
furry culprit’s name aloud in Tagalog. You see, in this country it’s a belief that
you should always refer to household mice – daga – as mabait, kind ones.
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Not that I’m
being
disrespectful
or anything,
but I still think
the best house
rat is one that
isn’t in my
house
being
disrespectful
or anything,
but I still think
the best house
rat is one that
isn’t in my
house
This probably goes back to our ancient
reverence for animals, our oneness with
nature, and our firm conviction that the dirty
little sneakbags are listening, will take offense
at being blamed, and will retaliate by
munching our clothes, ripping up the plants,
spray-painting the walls and for all I know
emailing us tons of viagra spam (“pleasure
her tonight, squeak”).
The persistence of this practice of being
vocally respectful to mice and their rodent
cousins – the rat, the big rat, the really big rat,
the election commissioner – is something I’ve
never understood. Perhaps it’s been helped
into the 21st century by modern, credible TV
shows (Disney Channel) which teach that
reverence for animals, our oneness with
nature, and our firm conviction that the dirty
little sneakbags are listening, will take offense
at being blamed, and will retaliate by
munching our clothes, ripping up the plants,
spray-painting the walls and for all I know
emailing us tons of viagra spam (“pleasure
her tonight, squeak”).
The persistence of this practice of being
vocally respectful to mice and their rodent
cousins – the rat, the big rat, the really big rat,
the election commissioner – is something I’ve
never understood. Perhaps it’s been helped
into the 21st century by modern, credible TV
shows (Disney Channel) which teach that
mice are cute creatures, wear shorts, stand upright on their hind legs, drive
cars and sing. Some of the critters apparently even do French cuisine, putting
a twist to the hygiene assurance “your food is untouched by human hands.”
And which kid doesn’t know that mice are heroes who, issuing from their
secret hideout (the Rat Cave), protect us all from giant, vicious but stupid cat
monsters? This has been conclusively proven by scientific programs (cf.
“Tom and Jerry”).
Having said all that, I should explain that I have mixed feelings about mice in
my house: I can’t decide whether I prefer to drown or pound the little beasts.
Call it a deep loathing coupled with a desire to eradicate the pests ... in other
words, something like the government’s attitude towards journalists, though
not quite as extreme.
Recently, an animal rights group sent me a press release saying that, in the
Year of the Rat, people shouldn’t inflict pain and suffering on rodents by using
glue traps (I wonder what they’ll do in the Year of the Dragon? Lobby to ban
mounted knights?).
The press release noted that rats are actually intelligent, sensitive and playful
creatures who only ever want to gnaw at your furnishings and spread the
Bubonic Plague. All right, I admit I added the last part. But I get the impression
the activists have a fondness for rats I don’t share (“so what if they scuttle
around ripping up your papers and clothes and treat your kitchen as a
lavatory, what did rats ever do to you, huh? Huh?”)
Granted that rodents are social creatures who want nothing more than to
raise families, work at decent jobs and bring up their kids to the point when
they’re old enough to run for office. Not that I’m being disrespectful or
anything, but I still think the best house rat is one that isn’t in my house.
I’d say the activists probably haven’t had mice scampering about their
bedrooms, and I doubt they’ve spent too much time looking closely at a fully
grown, fat and ugly sewer rat. But then, how often do they visit Congress?
cars and sing. Some of the critters apparently even do French cuisine, putting
a twist to the hygiene assurance “your food is untouched by human hands.”
And which kid doesn’t know that mice are heroes who, issuing from their
secret hideout (the Rat Cave), protect us all from giant, vicious but stupid cat
monsters? This has been conclusively proven by scientific programs (cf.
“Tom and Jerry”).
Having said all that, I should explain that I have mixed feelings about mice in
my house: I can’t decide whether I prefer to drown or pound the little beasts.
Call it a deep loathing coupled with a desire to eradicate the pests ... in other
words, something like the government’s attitude towards journalists, though
not quite as extreme.
Recently, an animal rights group sent me a press release saying that, in the
Year of the Rat, people shouldn’t inflict pain and suffering on rodents by using
glue traps (I wonder what they’ll do in the Year of the Dragon? Lobby to ban
mounted knights?).
The press release noted that rats are actually intelligent, sensitive and playful
creatures who only ever want to gnaw at your furnishings and spread the
Bubonic Plague. All right, I admit I added the last part. But I get the impression
the activists have a fondness for rats I don’t share (“so what if they scuttle
around ripping up your papers and clothes and treat your kitchen as a
lavatory, what did rats ever do to you, huh? Huh?”)
Granted that rodents are social creatures who want nothing more than to
raise families, work at decent jobs and bring up their kids to the point when
they’re old enough to run for office. Not that I’m being disrespectful or
anything, but I still think the best house rat is one that isn’t in my house.
I’d say the activists probably haven’t had mice scampering about their
bedrooms, and I doubt they’ve spent too much time looking closely at a fully
grown, fat and ugly sewer rat. But then, how often do they visit Congress?
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