Two days after Christmas, and nearly all of the time,
The house remained silent, until about nine.
So I in my pj’s crept back to the laundry,
To see why my husband was in such a quandary.
Then I heard noises from behind the wall—
Thumps, bumps, and fast scratching ‘cause the rat had been stalled.
I heard ratty muttering, steel wool being ripped
From the places I’d stuffed it—the rat was having a fit!
Silent, I watched—my heart beginning to flounder--
Would the insulation hold? Or would we have an encounter?
“What will you do?” Hubby asked, his face all a-grin,
I closed the door. “I’m shutting him in!”
This morning I crept up, flashlight in hand,
To peer at the rat hole and prepare to scram,
But the spray foam held—it was hard as rock.
It protected my laundry room just like a lock.
The thing that concerns me and arouses my dread—
Is if the rat will be trapped and soon find himself dead.
In that case, I wonder, I shudder to think
He’ll be trapped in my wall and then start to stink.
So go, nasty rat, run back to your home,
And leave me and my house forever alone.