I won the rat race! #FuckingFlea (my petite tortie female cat) brought it into the house AND LET IT GO. I spent the morning chasing it around my office. I’d get a corner cleared out and almost catch it then it would escape into another corner. So everything would get moved again. I probably rearranged the office 6 times. Finally the rat disappeared. Closed the door, set traps, and relaxed on the couch. Then I see it sneaking along the living room wall. Couldn’t find it (of course). Opened both doors hoping it would escape (out into the cold and rain—right. Silly me!) Moved the traps into the kitchen and almost got snapped by the big wire one. #FuckingFlea comes back in the house and is acting weird in the bathroom. Sure enough there’s the rat. Move a trap in, close the door, cover the gap. Wait... Wait... Wait... Hmmm... he doesn’t like Havarti? I’ve had quite enough of this by now. Put on my “I mean business” pink rubber boots. Find my heavy duty leather gloves. Ready. Gently remove the towel from the gap and open the door. Oh fuck—there he is. I can do this. Quickly close the door and cover the gap with the towel. Garbage can in the tub. Step stool in the tub. Fuck! He’s running! He’s behind the toilet in the corner next to the cleaning wands. Potty seat in the tub. Cleaning wands in—running again! Now trying to grab that fast little fuck and hoping my gloves are thick enough. Back and forth from the tub to the door. Around and around a 5x5 room. Grabbing and reaching. Cries and squeals. GOTCHA LITTLE BASTARD! Snap a pic and head outside. Released on the back fence. Last seen running west as fast as possible. Next time watch out for #FuckingFlea.