Nightmare! Total nightmare! I really don’t know how else to think or write about this. Rats in the toilet? Just the thought sends shivers down my spine, and honestly, I don’t even want to entertain the idea, let alone experience this scenario firsthand. After hearing a few urban legends, I was curious (and terrified), so I started asking around. My friends were just as skeptical and freaked out. “No way that can happen,” they laughed. But guess what? It’s not a myth.
Rats can, indeed, make their grand entrance right into your toilet, and just knowing this fact was enough for me to dive deep into a frenzy of worrying and researching. Like, what in the world would I do if I encountered a rat in my toilet? The first thing that pops into my mind is to run. But realistically, so would the rat—potentially after me! Clearly, I needed better solutions. So here’s the lowdown on what I discovered…
First Things First: Can Rats Really Swim Up Our Toilets?
Absolutely, yes. Rats in the toilet aren’t just some horror movie fiction; they’re a startling reality. These creatures are surprisingly adept swimmers. They can hold their breath for up to three minutes and tread water for as long as three days. They can even squeeze into spaces as tiny as a quarter. The usual route for these sewer-loving swimmers begins in your home’s main sewer line. They shimmy up, navigating through the narrow urban waterways, and presto, they pop up in your toilet like a grotesque surprise in a jack-in-the-box.
How Do They Do It?
Well, it turns out rats are attracted to the scents of food and waste that linger in our sewer lines. They explore these lines by squeezing through the smallest of cracks and climbing inside the vent stacks that lead to the roofs of buildings. Once they find a drainpipe that leads downward toward a toilet, it’s merely a matter of paddling upwards and making a grand entrance right into the porcelain throne.
Encounter of the Rodent Kind
Imagine this: it’s the dead of night, you’re groggily making your way to the bathroom, and as you flip on the light, there it is—a rat, casually lounging in your toilet bowl. What do you do? Well, after my initial instinct to sell the house and move to a rat-free island subsides, here’s the more rational action plan I put together after consulting with every expert source I could find:
Keep Your Cool: Panicking will likely scare the rat, potentially driving it to seek refuge in even less accessible parts of your home.
Contain the Situation: Quickly close the toilet lid to prevent its escape and place something heavy on top. Rats can be surprisingly strong, and the last thing you want is a chase scene in your bathroom.
Dial for Help: This is definitely a situation for the professionals. Pest control can manage the situation with the right equipment and safety protocols.
Handling a Deceased Visitor: If the rat isn’t alive, wear gloves to remove it from the bowl, place it in a sealed bag, and dispose of it properly. Don’t forget to disinfect every surface within a mile radius (okay, maybe just the bathroom).
Flushing is a No-Go: Whether it’s dead or alive, flushing the rat is a bad idea. It’s inhumane if it’s living, and could cause significant plumbing issues either way.
Prevent Future Uninvited Guests: After handling the immediate crisis, consider installing a non-return valve in your sewer system. This gadget allows waste to exit but prevents rodents from entering.
Regular Checks: Keep an eye on your plumbing to ensure there are no easy entry points for future intruders. Make sure all pipes and vents are secure and in good repair.
As for me, since learning all this, I’ve been extra vigilant. Maybe I’m checking the toilet a bit too obsessively before each use, but hey, can you blame me? And about that idea of moving out? Well, let’s just say my browsing history has seen a significant increase in real estate listings.
So, do you believe it now? —rats in your toilet aren’t just an urban myth but a potential reality. But with the right knowledge and precautions, you can prevent these terrifying scenarios and tackle them with confidence if they do arise. Stay alert, stay informed, and maybe keep a heavy book near the bathroom, just in case.
My Stepdaughter Insisted I Reassign All Her Deceased Father’s Possessions into Her Name – I Complied, Yet She Was Unpleased
The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.
Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…
I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.
Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.
When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.
Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.
One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”
Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”
“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.
“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”
She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”
But that “soon” never materialized.
Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.
I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.
Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.
“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”
“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”
I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”
As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.
Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.
Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”
Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”
Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”
Leave a Reply