Invasion

I decided to hit the sack early last night.  It had been a good four or five days since I’d enjoyed a full night’s sleep.  After a couple of ten minute phone calls back to the states, I turned on the tube and rested for a moment on my bed.  I fully intended to shower before calling it a night, but I woke up half an hour later sprawled out on top of the covers still fully dressed and shoes hugging my feet.  I rolled off the edge of my bed and half-heartedly changed into something cooler and more comfortable.  I turned up the AC, turned off the television, and quickly drifted back into slumber.

At half past midnight, I was awakened by a strange noise.  No, this was not the robotic voice blaring over the camp’s loudspeakers, "Incoming!  Incoming!"  It wasn’t the room-shaking blast of a rocket or mortar.  I sleep right through those.  This was a soft, muffled sound coming from the bookshelf just next to my head.  As soon as I was conscious enough to pay closer attention, I knew exactly what it was.  It was the sound of a rat’s little jaws gnawing through the corner of a metallic cellophane bag.

I immediately sat straight up and scooted to the end of my bed, hugging my knees to my chest.  I paused to consider my options.  Sunny hadn’t made it back to the room, so I’d have to fight this battle alone.  I had two possible courses of action.  I could either reach to the nightstand for my lighted alarm clock and chance grabbing the tail end of a rodent, or I could dart across the room to the light switch and instead chance having said rodent scamper across my feet.  I opted for the alarm clock.

As I shined the dim bulb in the direction of the bookshelf, the sound of cellophane crumpling between my furry visitor’s teeth stopped.  I couldn’t see him, but I could make out the half missing flap on the top of a box of Wheat Thins.  As I quickly surveyed the floor of my room to ensure he hadn’t brought along any stray friends, the nibbling continued.  In a half second’s time, I leapt across the trailer, only stepping one foot’s toes on the rugged floor, to jam two fingers into the light switch and bound back onto the edge of the mattress.  I dropped the clock and prepared my legs to run for the door if need be.

I think my ruckus and the suddenly blinding, flourescent light frightened the poor bastard more than he frightened me.  I stood frozen on the end of my bed as his frantic little legs twitched and clawed through the yellow box.  Somehow, he projected himself upward, through the gaping hole he’d left in the top, and I gasped as he scurried along the top of the case.  He climbed up the tattered curtain that covers the window behind the row of shelves and clamored across the metal rod near the ceiling.  As I inched even further away, his own momentum tripped his little, clawed feet, and he soared through the air.  I involuntarily screamed as I pictured his brown, smelly body landing on my pillow, and I’m fairly certain it was loud enough to wake every single person in my trailer.  Fortunately though, the rodent’s claws gripped the edge of the fabric, and he pulled himself back up and squeezed through the crack around the window.

I regrouped for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter over my own behavior.  In that moment, I had turned into a complete girl, and I was actually embarrassed for myself.  I turned out the overhead lights, snuggled under the top sheet, and nodded off… only to wake another half hour later to the same familiar sound.  Though I considered shooing him away once again, my eyes were too heavy.  Oh, what the hell.  Let him eat the damn crackers.  As I retold the story for my coworkers this morning, Owen noted, "It’s funny how living in Iraq reduces your standards.  Things that would never be acceptable back home, you couldn’t care less about over here."

Cheers,
Felina