Xy came home from Indiana on Wednesday. When she entered our house, she immediately noticed an unpleasant odor, something beneath my level of perception, but we couldn’t find the source.
The next day I noticed it too. We searched but still couldn’t find it.
Yesterday we made a more concerted effort. I noticed the smell seemed stronger near my office window. Xy investigated more closely, with a flashlight, and discovered the source: a dead rat, lodged between a bookshelf and the wall.
Xy used a stick to dislodge the carcass, and I grabbed it (using gloves and a newspaper shield) and put it in a trashbag. Ugh. I’m not particularly squeamish, but I don’t like dealing with rodents, dead or alive. Yet I felt an absurd sense of pride that we handled this little crisis pretty well together, and I’m happy to report the stink of death dissipated almost immediately.
This is the second dead rat I’ve found in our house, and there was also one on the sidewalk next door a couple months back. It’s obvious we have a problem. At first I thought our cat Lucy was killing them, but I wonder. At my request, our exterminator threw some rat poison pellets around our attic when he was doing our termite treatment. Maybe it’s working.