Vincent on deathrow

Vincent on deathrow

When I last wrote about my fears of the what the war veteran Little Victor, planned to do after escaping a glue-laden paper board set up by me to put an end to his nefarious activities in my bedroom, I seriously wanted to…no, NEEDED to believe that my mind was being overactive. Well, if the mind can conceive it, then it is very possible.

Since that time, I have had more “roomies”; little speedsters I’ve christened Vincent and Greg. How can I differentiate? I’ll tell you.

Victor, as you all know is the bold survivor. His fresh hairy skin was marred by the little glue battle of some days ago. He’s the only rat who constantly has the guts to come and stare at me while I’m in the john. I suspect he knows what I’m doing and how at that point in time, I can’t make any life-threatening moves. I’m serious considering adopting him for a pet. He’s too damn smart.

Vincent is the newest guy. At first, I thought it was Victor still sauntering all over the place whenever he pleased but I noticed the difference in size. Vincent is a lot smaller but just as fast.

Then there’s Greg. Greg is the one I like to call Kimbus Magista or king of food. This rotund rodent first caught my attention two days after Victor’s close shave with death. From the first time I began to take note of Greg, he chose the kitchen as his base of operations. His size never made me wonder why. Whenever I reached for my carton of Indomie, half-bag of rice or any other food item that managed to reside in my scanty kitchen, I would seem him scuttling away with difficulty.

There’s been one good thing about Victor’s experience though. Since he narrowly escaped the jaws of death, my room has been rodent free. Victor must have spread word to his cohorts to avoid the room at all costs except they wanted to their life expectancy to be cut short and they heeded his warning.

However, my kitchen has become crowded of late. I can’t have three rats running around every time I step into the kitchen. It never worried me much because I seldom stock the kitchen with food items apart from the minimum standard requirement of every bachelor kitchen.

Enter rat-glue again!

I noticed that the headquarters was someplace behind the fridge so I positioned the rat-glue at the back of the fridge.

Dear friends, it was an instant hit! Vincent fell prey. I came back from work to find poor Vincent wallowing face-down in glue. The thick puddle indicated a lot of struggle and for once, I was sure there was no escaping this one. Still, I decided to take no prisoners.

I carried my trap and its prize and headed down stairs immediately. The moment I lifted the trap, Vincent began to scream loudly as his struggle intensified like a prisoner on deathrow just about to get the chair. I was surprised because some how, I felt he could read my mind and the two words in capital letters – NO MERCY.

“Bros, abeg na…I nor go do again…I will never come into your house again. In fact, na me go do road block for your house. No rat go near your house again..” I imagined Vincent pleading but I don’t understand ratty.

The terrified screams turned to helpless whimpers as I got a little stick to pry him off the glue board. By the time, I succeeded in prying him off, there was no hope for him. The glue had contorted his whole little body structure. There was no need to harm him further as the glue had done a thorough job. To be sure that he could never boast of scars of war, I cast him into the filth of one of Surulere’s gutters, never to be seen or heard of again!

One down, two to go!

Malcolm O. Ifi.

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