Sink lo'ly sauce

It is down there...I just know it. I walk in my cozy home, see the beautiful Christmas tree still all aglow, breathe in, exhale and puh, ughhhh, yuck, ewwww ( I LOVE onomatopoeia!) - it's a rat in the basement! I just know it. Of course, since I haven't washed clothes downstairs in eons I would have no clue for sure but I just sense it. Can I tell you about my basement? Can you handle it? Will you not judge? Our basement is like the top of the water in a bucket that has sat outside in the rain for 2 months coupled with the worst smell of feet after wearing shoes with no socks married to the site of all the lost clothes in Pascagoula after Katrina hit along with the thought of ear wax and any thing moist. Should I keep going? I am nauseous just trying to describe it. Side note: We, as a group of women, are not fowl like our basement. We are separate of the basement. We are well kept, regularly bathed, sophistimicated young ladies who do clean our ears and wear socks with our shoes - but our basement is our antonym. If we are sugar and spice and everything nice than the basement is for sure slime and smell and everything from h-e-dounble hockey sticks.
So the bad part of this is that we all know it is down there but we believe that if we don't acknowledge that there is probably a dead rat down there then it will go away. And it normally does. I am not sure where it goes and I am not sure that I want to know but it does go somewhere.
We had to battle these monstrous rats all summer because of the heat and our old house and the way the house backs up to the woods. At one time this summer the darn thing (or his cousin) actually started coming up the stairs and was large enough to trip off the motion detector on the basement stairs. Then we heard it pitter patter down the stairs. And the worse part is that I am home alone tonight. Katie is on the night shift (a nurse, silly), Kat has flocked off to some adventure with a fine young lad in Nashville and artist-Catie is nowhere to be found. Just me and my imagination of what this smell could actually be connected to in the basement. Should I check it out or do as everyone else seems to do and ignore it? Last time we had a 4 legged visitor it was an all out operation with broom, stick, bandanas (note picture above) and much preparation and practice in in order to complete the gruesome task at hand. Tonight, though, I am all alone and have not a weapon I can think of that would perform all functions necessary.


My brother used to watch Peter Pan so often and so many times during the day that he memorized the movie. There is a part where 'Tink' tells the children to 'think lovely thoughts.' Well, little Matthew couldn't quite pronouce a few of the staple constonants and Tink's pleasant little saying became "sink lo'ly sauce". This mught be one of my favorite sayings in all of America. Correlation: I am sitting here on my couch, happy as a bug in a rug ( I just dont get that one either and hate that I continue to use sayings that have no relevance or meaning at all) typing away, listening to a little Ray and just continuing to sink lo'ly sauce regarding the stinch that begins to lurk every 8 minutes or so from the floor below. I shouldn't have to handle this on my own anyway right? Especially when no one is here to see me be a real heroin. (I hope I spelled that like the role-model and not the drug.) I am going to act like I dont smell a thing, continue to sink my sauce that are so lo'ly and I'll figure this out tomorrow. Isn't this stuff for boys? I mean, I can hold my own but don't boys enjoy this kind of adventure? I need a boy that likes adventure! That's my conclusion.
Goodnight.
Flipside unless the rat gets to me first.