Home Invaders

There are squatters in our apartment right now, and even though we know our rights to our home is very much enshrined in the constitution, we're too frightened of the squatters to let them go.

It started the other night as I was silently working on my bed.  The squatter came in, stopped in front of me and stared me in the eye.  I froze.  I didn't know what to do, or why the squatter was there in my room.  I twitched my eye and the squatter scampered away.  I was too frozen to react.  I wanted to hurry off and chase the squatter, but I was nailed to my bed, too frightened to get out of it.

And then the squatter started to make weird noises, which disturbed us to no end.  It was banging the wall, running up and down the stairs and destroying our generally peaceful atmosphere.  I called my housemate and we both decided that we should drive the squatter away.  

But we both were too afraid of the squatter to do anything about it, so we let it be.

Last night when we arrived home, we found the rest of the squatter's family by the stairs--two of the children, obviously recently-born, lay on the steps, dead.  Yes, two children--DEAD.  We got the shock of our lives.  We didn't expect it.  It wasn't the kind of thing we expected to cap a very stressful day.

We had no choice but to clean up the mess. 

Last night, the parent of the dead children was nowhere to be found.  We figured he might have scampered off through the hole at the back of my housemate's dresser, where we first found him, gnawing on the wooden division, making squeaky sounds, and being the freaking huge freaking 8-inch rat that he is, probably the biggest one I ever saw in my life.

And now I'm eternally scared.  Or scarred.  Whichever comes first.  *ninuninuninuninuni*