A Committed Relationship

I'm in a committed relationship again with the pack rat guy. We broke off for several months , me thinking I could live without him, he encouraging me to set my own trap, do the independent woman thing. Coming back from Africa and seeing the damage done by these Rattus Packus types as they attempted to move back into my house I realized I needed Chris in my life and begged him to return. He was/is more than gracious and I've come to look forward to our morning chats as he empties the traps.

Maybe it's not the big romance I dreamed of but I ask you, what's romance when compared to a man with genuine practical skills - plus he loves animals and listens to NPR.

Chris is the packrat expert with Animal Experts here in Tucson and he's back in my life because those pesky rats are back. I see it as a committed relationship. I have his number on speed dial and he knows my voice as soon as he picks up the phone. OK, so I pay him $35 every time he visits; this week he's caught 7 pack rats and to me he's worth every penny.

This morning I got a lecture on my "problem". No, nothing to do with me being clingy and shrieking when I found one of these rodents in the strawberry pot. My problem, according to Chris stems from my location. "Look where you are" he urges, waving his arm to the wash that borders my property. "And they love washes" he says. "Not only that but you've got a garden, you're growing fresh veggies and herbs for them" - he sighs, a long, deep sigh, I know I'm a lost cause. "You make things hard on yourself" he says. "that fountain you've got, well, all I can say is that you've created a resort, a spa for the pack rats." I hang my head. "The only thing you don't do wrong is feed the birds". I moved quickly, blocking his line of sight so he couldn't see the two feeders currently mingling with an out of control bougainvillea.


I can't stand his reproach. He's all that stands between me and a total take over by pack rats. I'll do anything to keep him.

I play the helpless woman card. Beg him to understand that I accepted his advice of earlier this year and stuffed wire wool into the rubber that seals the garage door (and if you don't think that a labor of love, you should have seen the nails I sacrificed). Nope, seems that nothing will convince Chris I'm serious about ridding my life of pack rats short of packing and moving to a high rise.