There's a mammal in our bathroom. Bigger than a mouse, smaller than a car

The first time I walked into the place, I remembered thinking, "Oh yeah, I can be a Dad here." With a baby then six months away, we knew we were going to need room and lots of it.

After six months of aggressive nesting, we arrived home with our seven-pound third member of the family. I remember saying to our new baby, "Baby, this is where we live."

A mammal in the bathroom

It was 2019 — an incident-free year of living in our appropriately-sized family rental home. But one day, I started walking down the stairs, and was about halfway down when suddenly something ran into the bathroom.

I pulled out my phone and texted my landlady, "There is a mammal. In our bathroom."

She said "Mouse?"

"Bigger than a mouse, smaller than a car," I replied.

So she called the exterminator. Thirty minutes later a handsome young man with flowing hair and pristine white overalls showed up and asked, "What are we dealing with?" 

I told him it could be anything.

Suddenly a rat, the size of a housecat, started rushing us at the door.- Sam Mullins

"Just so you know. Nine times out of 10, when a client traps something in a room, by the time we arrive it's found a way out," he explained. "Do you have a broom?" he asked. I handed him one. "Grab that hockey stick," he said. "Get behind me."

He opened the door a crack. Nothing happened. He pushed it open all the way. Nothing. He looked behind the door, behind the toilet and peered into the tub. Nothing.

He lifted the shower curtain against the wall and suddenly a rat, the size of a housecat, started rushing us at the door. 

He screamed and pushed the broom, shuffleboard style, sending the beast airborne, ricocheting off the tub I bathe my daughter in. The rat's legs never stopped moving at top speed, rushing us four more times. Somehow in the commotion we lost track of it.

Then it darted past both of us and booked it down the hallway toward the bedroom. The exterminator threw me out of the way and swung wildly. There was an unmistakable thudding of a broom on a rat torso. That was followed by the smack of a rat torso hitting drywall, as the exterminator swung wildly and repeatedly, murdering the rat as it screamed.

"Nooooo," I swear to god this rat screamed, "Nooooooo."

Going into 'Dad-mode'

Three months passed without incident. But then one day I went into the storage room to grab a roll of toilet paper. The floor under my feet was dirty.

It was more than dirty. The floor was dirt. There were mounds and mounds of dirt, rat tracks and feces. The designer crib made of birch and steel, the crib so fancy that I had to talk my reluctant wife into buying it, the one that we first put our daughter in when we brought her home from the hospital, now looked like it was used as a porta-potty at a rat music festival.

I texted my landlady. "It seems that our storage room is now 'Rat Manhattan.' Or 'Rathattan' if you will."

The designer crib made of birch and steel...now looked like it was used as a porta-potty at a rat music festival.- Sam Mullins

Why were there rats in my house where my baby lived? They could thrive anywhere, but they were living their life of sin and excess in my modest home! The only thing worse than a house with rats was going back into the rental market.

But then I thought, I'm a dad. And dads have to rally in moments like this because there's a baby girl and a very nice lady that deserve a rat-free home. The only rat that would be in our home would be a blu-ray copy of Ratatouille.

So I put on some thick jeans, some boots, some gloves, grabbed my hockey stick and shovel, and went back into "Rathattan" determined to find the entry point. I pulled out the shelf and there was a dirt hole in the floor with an opening wide enough to comfortably facilitate a healthy adult pug.

I started digging. By the time I was done there was enough dirt to fill five wheelbarrows. I took some bricks from the construction site next door to start blocking it with bricks and chicken wire.

When my wife saw me walk through the living room carrying several bricks, she opened her mouth to ask a question, but stopped herself, realizing that she didn't want to know the answer.

I made a formidable barrier and checked the next few days to see if any rats were stuck with us on the less fun side of the wall. I became more and more confident that we had done it.

Sometimes it takes thirty rats tunnelling into your home for you to really shine.- Sam Mullins

On day five, the exterminator finally came. And like a proud dad, I showed him my impenetrable barrier of bricks and chicken wire. He inspected my handiwork and checked the traps he had set three months earlier. After taking in the whole scene he looked at me and offered his professional opinion, "This is hardcore," he said. 

Indeed it was.

We removed the remaining dirt, poured twenty bags of concrete and deep-cleaned the room more times than I could count.

You know, I always thought I'd feel like a Dad right away. I always imagined that the second someone handed you your baby, you would start making bad puns, reading John Grisham novels and clearing your throat more loudly than you needed to.

But sometimes it takes a bit of time to arrive in your Dad skin. And sometimes it takes more than time. Sometimes it takes thirty rats tunnelling into your home for you to really shine.

About the producer

Sam Mullins is a two-time Canadian Comedy Award-winning writer and performer in Toronto. He writes comedy for the CBC sketch program The Irrelevant Show.

This documentary was produced and edited with Kent Hoffman.