There’s a rat in my attic.
It’s bad news. From the moment I knew she was there I hated her, an instant enemy, and I loathed her very existence.
Rats, quite remarkable species when you think about it. This rat can go for days without being fed; without the need for food or water. And though she has particular tastes when she does need to eat just about anything will keep her alive.
She stays out of sight, hiding in my attic, a creature of the dark.
Most of the time I’m unaware she even exists. With cues to her presence rare I’m teased with the thought to leave her alone or pretend she’s no longer there. Sometimes, in her silence, I even forget about her; a grievous mistake for rats not only grow, but multiply.
And then comes the night. Not every night but the night of her need. With the scurry of little feet I am suddenly made aware again that my nocturnal friend has not left me at all. Instead she runs all over my dark places leaving a trail of waste and feces as evidence of her presence; turning what was simply a dark place into a rancid one. Chewing up random pieces of my house to take away and make my home, hers.
There’s a rat in my attic. I hate her. She is my mortal enemy and I loathe her very existence.
The name of my rat is Temptation.