Repeat after me… “food chain”

At first, the only sound I could hear was the whirring of a color wheel behind the head of the electric Jesus that hangs at the end of the patio. It was a souvenir from the Mexican section of the Mission District of San Francisco. Jesus watches over summer card games, bringing conviction to cheaters who try to peek at someone else's cards. On Wednesday night I sat silently reading, and soon tired of the hum of the little motor that turned the halo. I found the switch and turned it off. I wanted to hear the neighborhood, but I got a bit more than I bargained for.

During the summer when doors and windows are open, the population of our corner of suburbia is much closer than in the winter when we are separated by wood, glass, and weather. I could hear the voice of a woman. Whatever she said caused a man to laugh: not a sarcastic or sardonic laugh, but one of delight like he got the joke. A little boy in the street was talking loudly to two teenagers working on a car. He announced that his bedtime was "nine furty," although it was already almost ten. The faint strains of accordion music came through our backyard from our family room. While I sat there I heard three car alarms at varying distances, carried on the calm air of summer. I pictured embarrassed drivers scrambling for the remotes, pushing buttons frantically after accidentally disturbing the peace. My neighborhood sounded like the modern version of a soundtrack for an old movie like Rear Window, or A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Perhaps life isn't so very different in suburbia.

My suspicions were confirmed when I heard a rustling in the ivy that covers the rock wall below Jesus. A little black rat appeared, unaware of my silent presence. It hopped to the deck, found a morsel of food, and sat there eating from its dainty paws. Apparently rats are everywhere, but they really love neighborhoods like ours because it was carved out of a hill, each lot separated by rockery. I do my best to control the population of rats, but since they are so prolific, being at the bottom of the food chain and all, and have no natural enemies around here, it's a lost cause.

"Food chain. That's it!" I thought. I went to the shed and pulled out the humane live rat trap I had purchased some time ago.

My son John, who is spends weeks at a time on the road with a band, has a boa constrictor. "Sugar" was a gift from an old girlfriend, and John can't bear to find a new home for her (the snake, not the girl). He only feeds it one rat each month so that the snake won't outgrow her home, and consequently, my home. But if I trapped a rat, couldn't I feed it to Sugar? I called John, and he told me what to do if the hunt was successful.

On the first night, I set the trap so that it would not spring. The chips and bean dip I provided disappeared. But on the second night, I set it with a hair trigger release, and this morning, I had a rat. I followed John's directions, and I managed to be out of the room by the time Sugar discovered her morning ratatouille. I called John, and he actually gushed, "I'm proud of you, Mom!" I almost cried.

Yes, I feel some remorse for the rat, but I keep repeating the words "food chain." And after all, the circle of life does include death.