My Pack Rat Battle: A Tale of Defeat and Respect
This post is archived for legacy—for the emotional and lifestyles of everyday people. Who Won the Rat Race? Time Will Tell Let me set the scene: an outbuilding overrun with pack rats—those sneaky, hoarding little monsters that turn your space into their personal junkyard. I went in ready for war, but I’ll admit it—I chickened out, phobiced out, and just couldn’t keep up. This is my story of defeat, a nod to my husband’s heroics, and a salute to the real MVPs out there. Armed with full hazmat suits, professional painters’ filtering masks (better than N95, mind you), and gloves up to our elbows, my husband and I faced the chaos. The outbuilding had been aired out, and all signs pointed to the rats being long gone—probably scared off by our feral cat posse and my fierce chickens and roosters patrolling the property. Still, the aftermath was daunting: bleach-soaked boxes, heavy and reeking, stood between us and victory. I tried. I really did. But lifting those soggy, heavy box...