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Rodentia



Okay, so when I left off last time, it was early 2020, and I had just discovered that we had rats in the attic. Which makes a nice change. Usually people accuse me of having bats in the belfry. But we shan’t listen to such base canards. Or even malevolent mallards. No. Not even once.


Anyway, that meant we had to put the Casita project on hold while we figured out what to do with the Beasties Above. At first, I thought I might try to take care of them myself. I went to the hardware store and got a bunch of traps -- both the old, reliable kind that are just a wood platform and a spring-driven neck-breaker, and some brand-spandy, high-tech new ones that are made out of plastic and look sleek and cool. (Special note, the plastic ones didn’t work worth a hoot. The rats just munched on the bait and then went off with a chuckle.)





About the pictures: I’ve not got many photos of rats to share (thank goodness) but here are some others. First, here’s a shot of Martha on the beach in Clearwater, Florida. Thought it turned out well. Second, here’s a cactus flower with a friendly visiting bee at the park not far from here in Georgetown. Third, the sun and sand at a lakefront we visited in January of last year.


I avoided poison for a couple of reasons. First, because I didn’t want the animals going outside, dying, and then being eaten by any local fauna and then getting sick themselves. I’ve learned that is a real problem, and I wanted to leave as little an impact on the resident wildlife (and domesticated animals) as I could.(*)


And...second, I had selfish reasons. To wit, I didn’t want the animals dying in the attic, and then rotting someplace for a year or so. Stinky, you see. I also avoided the glue traps. If you’ve not run across these, they’re basically just big pieces of sticky paper, like fly paper. The rat or mouse gets into them and just can’t get loose. Unless a human discovers the animal, and kills it quickly, it then dies of hunger and/or dehydration.


Which seems cruel to me. Breaking a rodent’s neck is not, of course, something of which St. Francis might warmly approve. But, at least it’s quick. And, besides, I get all these flashbacks to those old movies where somebody gets caught in quicksand or tar pits or something and dies a horrible lingering death. Ah, the sweet nostalgic memories of childhood.


Thus, properly armed, I returned home, scampered up the ladder into the attic, and set out my traps. Then, with fiendish glee twisting my face into a sinister grin, I awaited results...


...which were pretty darn paltry. I did manage to get a couple of rats in the old fashioned traps. But, like I say, the cool, high-tech, new-and-improved ones didn’t so much as catch a whisper of a whisker. And the sound of little clawed feet romping about in our attic continued unabated. (Phooey.)


Finally, I realized I would have to give in to the inevitable. I wasn’t going to be able to manage this by myself. So, I called up a service--American Rodent Control, in Austin. And, a short time later, two gentlemen with a truck appeared out front, ready to do what I had not been able to.


How was I to know, though, that things were about to get even more interesting than they were?


If such a thing is possible.


More to come.



Footnote:


*See “SAFE RODENT CONTROL,” Center For Biological Diversity, https://www.biologicaldiversity.org/campaigns/Safe-Rodent-Control/#







Copyright©2026 Michael Jay Tucker





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~mjt


Walking To Wimberley

Welcome to Wimberley, Texas—where the cypress trees lean over lazy rivers, the cowboy boots are ten feet tall (and painted like rainbows), and the coffee shops echo with guitars and gossip.

In Walking to Wimberley, Michael Jay Tucker invites you to join him on a meandering, thoughtful, and often hilarious journey through one of Texas’s most charming Hill Country towns. Based on his popular blog entries, this collection of travel essays explores Wimberley’s art, history, music, and mystery—with the dry wit of a seasoned traveler and the wide-eyed wonder of a first-time visitor.

 

Whether he’s hunting for the perfect taco, pondering the existential meaning of oversized footwear, or just trying to find parking on market day, Tucker brings Wimberley to life with style, warmth, and just a hint of mischief.

Come for the scenery. Stay for the stories. Bring your boots.

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