What would you do if you found a live rat in your kitchen sink?
Honestly, what would you do? Be merciful and set it free? Be gripped by irrational fear and kill it?
Late last Sunday morning, yours truly — stumbling clumsily out of bed in search of caffeine, toothpaste, and toilet paper (not necessarily in that order) — was mildly spooked upon hearing a strange thrashing noise coming from the kitchen.
Was it a thief breaking and entering my home? On a Sunday morning? I know times are bad but if a thief were that desperate to sacrifice the pleasures of sleeping in on a Sunday morning, he probably meant business. If he meant business, then he was probably armed and dangerous and all.
And I was home alone.
I needed to call for help. Now where the heck did I leave my phone? Also, now’s not the time to have a hangover-induced headache!
My frazzled mind, trying to break through the fog caused by the previous night’s beer and whiskey-fueled debauchery — Chinese wedding dinners are tough, believe me — eventually settled once again on that single thought — call for help. But first I needed to find my bloody phone.
After realizing that I’d probably left my phone somewhere on my desk in the hallway, which was…
