Rats, Poison and (un)Common Sense

Rony's grandfather, a sweet older man who has lived his life hard,
eking out a living among rain, mosquitos, fertile soil and devastating floods,
has a problem:

His liver is failing from his continual drinking.

He has railing pains that wrack him and turn him into a knot of agony.

He goes dry, takes his medication, gets a bit better...

and starts in on the bottle again.

Repeat cycle.

And he knows that one day it could quite simply be the death of him.

Have you ever heard a story like this?


A month ago I discovered that I had a rat in my house.
My house isn't that large, or spacious and there is DEFINITELY not
enough room in it for both me and a rat
who chews holes in my oil bottle,
chews holes in my bread,
chews holes in my nifty new handbag,
and poops all over my tidy home.

So I did what anyone else with a bit of sense and cents would do.

I bought poison.

And mixed it with a rat's favorite foods:
roast chicken the first night.
That next morning I found the bowl disturbed, some chicken and rice pulled out
and the majority left behind.
However, my bread bag that was hung on a tight rope across my ceiling
 - accessible only by the acrobatic best -
was quite compromised.

So, thinking he liked bread better, I bought some fresh lovely bread,
cut it in half and smeared the middle with strawberry jam -
and poison.

That night I slept fitfully, hearing the rat knocking around
and half-guitily knowing him to be in the throes of death.
The next morning I awoke to the relief of finding the bread gone.
All of it.
But no little rat carcass to be found.

I did my morning ritual of a trek down the hill to the pit pot,
and coming back up my stairs, saw a bloody wreck in the corner.
Squeamishly, I moved shoes and peered under the bookcase...

and there in the floor was a round,
completely whole
circle of messy red
jelly.

The stinker had hauled the bread to the corner, eaten the whole top of it,
flipped it over, and eaten the other side too.
Leaving the poison completely untouched.
I was so incredibly frustrated - and simultaneously impressed.

Somehow, my little rat knew what poison was... and as tempting as the food was,
he knew to stay away from it.

Now back to Rony's grandfather...

Why is it that we may not be as smart as some rats?

And before we judge, I just need to go a short ways to
think of the times in my life that I
*KNEW*
something was bad for me, but went ahead and did it anyway.

Rats.