The bug man told me I had a rat in my AC closet. I didn't believe him.
But I let him set a trap anyway, because it made him feel better and because there was a teeny chance he was right. I felt a little bad, but really, if the rat would just live outside where he/she belongs, everything would be okay for both of us.
Guess what? The bug man was right. Apparently he's pretty good at his job.
Unfortunately, it took about a week for his vindication to occur. During which time I decided he was definitely wrong, and stopped checking the trap.
Then, rather suddenly, there was this funny smell in the house . . . . Uh oh.
It lingered a bit after the clean-up, so I overrode it by making chicken cacciatore. Now the house smells like an Italian restaurant, instead.
R.I.P., little rat.