The Rats of Ormond and Dogs of Victoria

The poodle sized rats that were creeping through my house at night commando style, have finally vanished.  Their population dwindled almost immediately after the “rat man” sprayed his poison and laid baits; I don’t even hear them in the roof anymore.

That isn’t to say I’ve completely eradicated their smell, but I’m getting there.  I’ve become quite the rodent expert throughout this hellish time.  (Not exactly something you can put on your CV, but handy just the same!)  The house has undergone some serious cleaning and I have invested in so many “pure oils” that I could open an apothecary!  According to some of the websites I went to, pure peppermint oil on cotton balls scattered throughout the house stuffs up the sense of smell.  Theory is if you can’t smell you can’t hunt so the rats decamp.   I nearly decamped the first night and I kept waking up with my eyes watering I had splashed it around so much; I’m not quite as heavy handed now.

To diminish the “rodent” smell (which is a musty vile odour that lingers forever) you wash everything down in peroxide with pure orange oil (which is quite pleasant). 

So, odd waft of rodent aside, things are good.  Things are settling into “normal” at the Ormond House. 

What is normal you may ask…?  For me means, it means the house is always clean and tidy…    Things get put away when not in use.  Even better, I’ve corrected our lifestyle back to what it was pre the period of my life now known as the “Squeeze, Latent Serial Killer and the Harridan Phase”.

That small correction has seen me drop nine kilo so far this year – a sizeable chunk in anyone’s language and one that expands your wardrobe as the clothes that were pushed to the back of the rack because they were too small, circle through to the front again.

The only dark cloud at this minute in time is my finances; boy have they taken a bashing!   Rat eradication cost about $700 – and that is the one off cleaning and eradicating!  I live in fear of them coming back in another month or two when the pigs who live next door and are not fit to run a restaurant, let the place drop back to what it was. 

On top of the rat phase; is the dog phase – that is the bloody speeding fines!  We are talking less than 5 klms over here and we are talking several….  But hey, my Dad was dying and I was trying to get to appointments!  I sent a lovely letter to Victoria Compliance asking for a little compassion and leniency telling them that my Dad had died (and he was one of their own!)  I got a generic reply that basically said suck it up.  In truth, sending a letter to say “sorry to hear about your father, but suck it up” would have been passable.  Just to ignore his death as though it doesn’t count I felt was outrageous!  And I’ll be sending them another letter to tell them that!

I’m not dead…

I’m not dead and I haven’t been abducted by aliens.  Life just seems to have become a tsunami and I’m struggling to keep my head above it all.  Something has to give; until now, that has been my blog.

When I last updated; I was attempting to settle into the house after taking a month off to be with my Dad and family (still miss you Dad x).  Since I was mid move when my Dad got ill, I was a bit of a gypsy for that period in time.  The stress and heartache messed with my mind to the point where I couldn’t hold a thought in my head for long enough to get from one room to another.   On one racing trip to Geelong I realised the very neat pile of ironed clothes I’d gotten out to take with me, were still sitting at home on my bed.  I had my bag with makeup, toothbrush and undies, but not a stitch to wear (lucky my sister bailed my out!) 

Sigh; and they actually were flying trips; I’m still paying off the speeding fines I received over that period of time.  Oh well; I didn’t want to miss a second and I don’t regret it, even if they are making me pay for it now.

So the last entry was around settling, my kids and the great Zombie invasion of the walking dead – that and not having five seconds to myself.  But I was home now and it was time to survey the land and see where was good to eat, what was fun to do… learn the lay of Ormond.  This is where the next wave started to rise; and it looked to be a doosie.

The groovy roof top bar on the corner had crap food but pretty good music late into the night.  I couldn’t care less about the music (all bar karoke night; sheesh, there are some crap voices in the world.  Just because you’re drunk, that doesn’t suddenly mean you can sing…)  Given I’m a vinyl gal and just purchased myself a Pro-Ject – I was never going to have an issue with the bar.  I do have an issue with the plebs walking home after a night out, up the lane way tossing their stubbies on the cobblestones outside of mine (and other) places; so I reported it to the council.  That was the first place in the street to dislike me (assuming they knew it was me J )

The entry prior to the last was around the “mouse” issue.   This of course became a “mice” issue.  Then a “RAT” issue; then a “RATS” issue.  And we are talking rats as big a freaking little poodles (weirdly fluffy too!)  Their claws tapping on the floorboards in my bedroom woke me several times and when I realised what it was, there wasn’t a chance in holy Hell that I was able to sleep in that house.  Every noise; each bit of scratching in the wall and I was bolt upright with my torch shining it into the darkened corners of the room and wondering if the damned thing was going to creep out in the middle of the night and gnaw off my nose.

Part of the tsunami wave that hit me was the Russian property manager who informed me that rodents only go to dirty houses; therefore I would have to pay for the pest controller.  I will admit that I blew like a kettle and since that moment in time, she has been called “that Russian whore!” when I’m walking around my house.  Frankly, I’m not sure if I was more outraged over her stupidity regarding rodents or her attempt to tell me; me!!  The Serial Killer Neat Clean Queen!!!! - that my house must be so dirty it was attracting rats!  The cheek of the woman!

From the rats, came the agent and owner drama and the war began.  I got a somewhat creepy tall, lanky guy in to do an “inspection and eradication” (seriously, he was always going to be a little strange – given his profession) and took pleasure in forwarding the written report, stating quite clearly that it was NOT due to my house, but due to the environment, to the Russian Whore and stating that the owner could reimburse me.

For some purpose that defies reason, the owner (possibly new to the real estate market) seems to think that he can “set and forget” and I’ll just keep paying a reasonably high rent even though he isn’t sticking to his end of the contract.  A liveable premise does not come with poodle size rats hovering in the corner of the room, waiting to gnaw your nose off!  Nor does it come with a legion of mice that were more like cotton balls with legs; devouring my pantry and leaving their stench over everything!

My house!  I already know exactly where it is coming from.  The filthy place next door called “Ormond Thai” (roll up, roll up and get your fresh food poisoning!) – so I contact the council again.  This time, they read the report submitted by the rat guy and turn up at the restaurant to do an inspection.  Imagine my surprise when they call to say they’ve shut the place down.  31 health code violations including rodents in the kitchen, fridge seals broken, bench tops were newspaper….  And the list goes on.

The next morning, I woke up to a rats head near my door (creepy sick photo below).  Really..?  Are we really going down a Godfather path..?  I mean who has more to lose here when I start a vengeful campaign…?  I guess that is another place along the strip that dislikes me.

And as the mice; and more slowly but at least moving rats dissipate, the war with the owner continues.