THE RATS OF MONTECITO by T. C. Boyle
When I moved into the house in which I currently reside and from which I will one day be hauled away to the cemetery, I realized that the previous tenants remained the current tenants as well – that is, the descendants of the rats that most likely took possession here when the house was built in 1911. I became alerted to their presence the first time I pushed open the trap door to the attic and saw that this expansive space, which had been sprayed with some sort of fibrous insulation at an indeterminate point in its history, was in fact a rat village. Picture those Christmas villages in the display windows of department stores, only in this case the cotton batting was channeled with rat boulevards leading to cozy rat dens. I put the cat up there and shut the door, after which a deep silence fell over the house. Of course, a cat can only do so much, so I began luring the rats into a Havahart trap baited with Skippy Super Chunk peanut butter, which, to a rat, is like crack cocaine to certain members of our own species.
The rats of Montecito are called tree rats or roof rats, due to their propensity to climb and nest in trees (and attics), but they are in fact simply adaptive members of the species, Rattus rattus, introduced in some distant period from Europe via sailing vessels. They are part of the ecosystem now and I was prepared to live with them as I live with all the other creatures in this coastal California environment, which I’ve done my best to keep as eco- friendly as possible. For example, for many years I’ve planted milkweed for the convenience of the monarch butterflies that overwinter in the grove in the back portion of the property on which the house sits, originally five acres, now shrunk to an acre and a half. At night, especially in winter, I am entertained by the hoo, hoo hoo call of the great horned owl, a rat- eater, and we provide a dense native environment for squirrels, frogs, toads, lizards, raccoons, rabbits, chipmunks, gophers, opossums, hawks of various species, and the occasional snake and coyote. Two nights ago, during one of our increasingly disastrous rainstorms, a mountain lion showed itself on camera while ambling up my neighbor’s front walk. All good. But the rats, unfortunately, repay my good intentions by gnawing through the wiring in the cars and crapping in the granola. Thus, the Hav ahart trap.
But here is the conundrum: once you have trapped one of these infinitely agile, keenly intelligent and, let’s face it, adorable little creatures, what to do with it? In one of my recent short stories, I write of a gardener on a crew that tends to the big estates in an enclave very much like Montecito (an unincorporated area contiguous to Santa Barbara and under the direct influence of the peaks and slopes of the Santa Ynez Range). His crew was tasked with keeping the grounds of the estates pristine (lawns, fruit trees, fertilizer, blowers and scourers and minimizers of every sort) and any animal that intruded on this arena of cultivated perfection was branded “a nuisance animal.” The crew used Havahart traps in various sizes because animals are less leery of them than snap traps, at least after one of their tribe has been bloodily detained, and when they caught any of these animals, be it raccoon, possum, or rat, they simply filled a trashcan with water and dropped the trap in.
Is this obscene? A level of casual cruelty beyond the pale for any thinking and feeling human being? To ask the question is to answer it. My solution? I transport the rats, in comfort, several miles away, and release them in the chaparral, where natural processes hold sway. This is not an ideal solution, of course, and can lead to cruelties of its own. On the plus side, I would like to think that the coyotes, raptors, and gopher snakes appreciate the bounty, especially since the numbers of their natural prey are vastly reduced by free- roaming cats.
Could I live with the rats and leave them in place, as I do with all other creatures on this property – on this planet, for that matter? Yes. And perhaps I should. But the damage they do to the house, and especially the cars, is a real disincentive. They live well, the rats. They adapt admirably and are no more guilty as an invasive species than my own and over the centuries they have come to belong here. Along these lines, I once uncovered a rats’ nest in a stack of firewood, the rats having vacated the premises unseen and unheard. I examined their bed, a beautifully woven bowl of soft fibers rather like a bird’s nest, though more silky and pliable and, I suspect, warmer. I saw too the leavings of what these privileged local residents like to dine on, in addition to the acorns and Catalina cherries that are superabundant here – oranges, avocadoes and escargot. What else would you expect from California?
T.C. Boyle has published more than 150 short stories and 19 novels, including A Friend of the Earth (Penguin, 2001) and, most recently, Outside Looking In (Ecco, 2019).