Rats!

Rats!
No I didn't go to see Ratatouille. Going to the movies in Bermuda while being a pastor, that's another blog altogether. Maybe with a false beard and sunglasses :-)

I mean rats. The rodent that tends to live closer to humans than they (the humans) like.
Today is a sunny day (bear with me, I'm going somewhere with this--and it's not the obvious schadenfreude spiel of "I'm in a sunny country and you're not, na na nanana"). And I decided to cut my hair (well, grade 000 cut with the clippers). Sun and scalp don't go together, at least in my case--as I found out the other day, followed by days of peeling, on my scalp. Man, I would've made a good example for a head&shoulders ad.
So I decided I need a hat for today. And I remembered having some baseball caps, from some yesteryear. I'm sure they made the move over from England last year. Hadn't seen them since though. So where are they? Having checked the usual suspects in the house, I thought, maybe the garage (really it's a glorified shed that can hold a bike, or a toy car). There is that big box in there that may contain some long lost items.

So I went in. A big brown spider scuttled for some cover of darkness as I opened the door. Warnings of things to come... (yes, let that creepy feeling build, and let those goosebumps build)
That big box, about 5ft tall stood near the door. It was open at the top, and an old beach mat, rolled up, stuck out the top. I decided to poke with it, you know, to warn the spiders. Instead of spiders running for covers, I heard an old familiar rustling sound. Suddenly, I saw it. It looked at me for a split second. Then it jumped out of the box.
And with a very unpastoral **&% me I was the one diving for cover. For a moment I felt like Neo in Matrix 1 when he sees that the probe that just got sucked out of his guts was real.
So I kicked the box. Bloody hell, there were 3 MORE rats coming out over the next few minutes of kicking, poking, and running. (I just hope my wife doesn't read this LOL)
When I was sure all the rats had vacated the premises, I dragged the box into the open and kicked it again. And there was one last sucker jumping out and running for cover in the bushes. You mean to say that I had five of them squatting in my shed?
I kicked the box over lifted it up, and emptied it out. [bleep], at what I saw.

Rewind a few months--this is the part in the movie when we go back in time. It's winter and I'm looking for my beloved Barbour jacket. My faithful companion that I had bought as a bachelor, on a trip to Scotland with my brother. I couldn't find it. I reasoned that I must have left it in England....
And there it was. At the bottom of the pile. Covered in mildew, rat's liquids, and eaten up. Gnawed by their eager teeth to create a cosy little nest.

I am sitting on the ferry now, on my way to town, a more relaxing way than taking the bus. I can actually take out the laptop and type this. And I'm grieving over the loss of my jacket (ok, no cheesy music, or Teletubby hugs). I liked it. (Addition: it's night time now, by the time I can post it on the net. The jacket is still outside. For some insane reason I hope that the rat smell will dissipate, and that the big holes will somehow shrink over night, and that I can then send if off to the customer service--Barbour is famous for good customer service...)

Recently I heard a very good sermon (see our church website and click on "Sermons" look for Camp Meeting, Henry Wright Friday). We are too much in love with our stuff.
Time to let go, and realise that we don't actually own it, just looking after it on behalf of the Owner.
Hope the rats liked my jacket. But they had to let go of it too, this morning ;-)