We’re into our annual late Autumn brawl with rats. Zip has done his work and cleared them out of the barn, but they slowly snuck into the house in the past few years. They go outside in warm weather and come in to be dry and warm. They do not have heavy fur coats from harsh winter.
Maria and I don’t believe in killing animals we trap or capture, but we both have no trouble killing a rat, preferably with a trap first. Our problems come when we see them and watch them scramble in terror to escape the baskets we use to catch them.
We’ve become specialists in how they move, eat, sleep, and think. (We don’t need any advice about rats; we’re on it.)
Last year was our worst rat assault. One bit rat got into the kitchen, climbed shelves and built nests behind the stove and refrigerator. He hid for a while. We cleared them out in a ferocious all-night battle featuring Bud, our Boston Terrier, and the biggest of cats, stopping them from opening the cabinets and eating all the biscuits and crackers in the house.
I was going to shoot the one hiding in the back of the refrigerator, but before I could get dressed, Maria had taken him out and released him into the woods. We’ve given up on the hardware store traps; the rats are onto them.
We’ve found humane ways to catch them, and I’ve persuaded Maria that if we don’t kill them, we need to take them far away as they are intelligent and resourceful and will return if they are anywhere close – some say under 50 miles. I don’t buy that figure; none of the trapped ones have returned. They sense this is a nuthouse with dogs and a barn cat who has no regrets about killing anything.
Right after Zip moved in, we found cat bodies everywhere; now there are none. This last week, we wondered if we shouldn’t let Zip come into the basement for a day or two and do some of the rat-hunting he loves. (It was tempting; I thought the animal rights zealots would probably wet themselves in horror or joy, but I wasn’t sure which. They don’t care for animals that work.)
Zip is quite happy where he is; he has the farm run, and we are pleased with where he is, too.
But the traps seem to have worked, and nobody got hurt or killed. Maybe it’s over. The one we got last night was cute. She got to us. But she’s miles away now.
The rat assaults were one reason we wanted a Barn Cat to replace the two we had. We only saw a rat once, and they both died.
I like the most extensive metal baskets as traps. Our rats don’t see them as obstacles or traps, not our rats. City rats are much savvier than country rats; they have much more to learn.
I’ve researched what rats like to eat—nuts, meat, garbage, dry grains, pet and animal droppings, and fruits from trees or bushes, all plentiful on a farm. We put their favorite things into the traps.
Our basement is full of secret and invisible paths to the outside world, accessible entrance for a slim and slimy rat. Rats will never wholly vanish from farms, but we are barely smarter than them. At least for a while, we won’t get cocky.
We put our baskets out in the past two weeks and stuffed the far end with rat delicacies and seeds—crackers, etc. We’ve killed four of them in the past few days and released them all far away near the woods. They seem to be fine, but you can never tell with rats. Mice are easy to fool; rats are way too intelligent for amateurs or foolishness.
