January 26, 2013: The Vole Story

Rambo before escaping out the doggy door

Once upon a time....we had a cat named Rambo. This little calico kitty was an adventurer. My dad, a farm boy at heart, always said he admired Rambo for his hunter skills. Although Rambo only lived with us for a short period of time, he was pure entertainment.

Rambo's morning ritual included slipping out the doggy door and hunting mice. My neighbor told me that Rambo greeted her each morning at her deck door with his unfortunate prey. So proud. He once brought a baby bunny into our basement to show my boys. They were playing video games with friends as Rambo dropped the very alive bunny at their feet. As they screamed trying to catch the scared and hopping creature, Rambo sat calmly as if to say "look what I found!" Always a show off.

Rambo's hunting skills did not directly affect me until one fateful summer night several years ago. Mom and Dad were staying with us and sleeping in the basement. On the particular night of this story, we were all in bed. Ben's bedroom sits at one end of the hallway on the top level of my house and mine on the other.

All was quiet on this particular night. I was reading when I heard a high-pitched screeching sound coming from the hallway. "A bat," I thought. So as any good mother would do, I locked my bedroom door and piled pillows next to it. Kids? What kids? Every man for himself.

I soon was reminded that there were, in fact, children in my house. A beep came from my phone as I received a text message from Ben. "What's that noise in hallway?" My response..."a bat. lock your door".

Although I wasn't about to unlock my door, my maternal instinct was (kind of) kicking in. Hmmmm...what to do? I quickly remembered my parents in the basement and a land line phone that spoke the name of the caller. So I called the home phone.

I later found out that as the phone rang and the woman's voice provided the details "call from Sandra Lane", my dad in his sleepy state asked Mom, "Where is Sandy??? Did she go out and needs to be picked up?"

We will rack this inaccurate accusation up to flashbacks to my teenage years. Although it is important to note that I was innocently in my own room, my dad was obviously having a hard time adjusting to my recent revert back to single status. In his defense, I was 19 years old the last time I was a single girl, so this was new territory for him. I later gave him a bye for his forgetfulness that I had since matured past late night curfew-calls.

After my dad got his wits about him, I told him of the apparent bat in the hallway. Ben and I continued to text one another, but neither budging from the safety of our bedrooms. We could soon hear my dad, the hero bat slayer, saving the day.

With broom in hand and following the apparent commotion on the main level of my house, my dad coaxed Ben and I out of our rooms. The other boys and Mom soon followed. His days on the farm proved a valuable asset to the dwellers of my house as he explained that the bat was actually a vole (rodent that looks like a mouse without a tail). Rambo's quest of the night was the vole and he choose to bring his capture into the house.

The screech was the vole's survival cry. Rambo had eventually taken his prey of the night from the hallway to the downstairs bathroom to finish the kill. My dad's remedy to the situation was to simply close the bathroom door and let Rambo "finish off the vole". Lovely. So much for good karma in this house. We now wore the blood of a vole. Rambo finished his business, Dad cleaned up after, and we all went to bed. Rambo was proud.

Unfortunately, Rambo's sense of adventure ultimately resulted in his early demise. He ended up on busy 168th Street during a morning commute and did not win the battle with the car. His hunting days were over. Grant cried many tears not understanding that Rambo, the adventurer, took many risks that unfortunately caused his untimely end. R.I.P. Rambo the Hunter...but have to note that I haven't had a bunny, bat or vole in my house since.