The family just got back from our Father's Day dinner at Shangri-La Makati. About 15 mins past midnight (we were all still awake) Boit tells me to help Pa in the kitchen. Seems he's trapped a rat and was trying to kill it. I peeked into the kitchen door window to assess the situation. My father is armed with a squeegee, saw and wooden backscratcher (ya take what ya can, and the tool shed's next to the kitchen, anyway), and breathing hard from having moved the fridge.
After I handed him the flashlight, we managed to scare the vermin from out under the fridge, where it scrurried left and right. Between Pa's toneful whacks of the saw and klacks from the backscratcher, I was going at it w/ the squeegee while my inner gay man has going filthy! filthy! I finally stepped on it, while my father whacked it w/ the backscratcher.
But not before hitting my foot. Twice.
Long story short: Dad kills rat, much to his satisfaction. My right toe hurts.
Ironic way to start Father's Day, seeing as how my Dad was born in the Year of the Rat.
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