Sunday evening, while I was dancing at a friend's daughter's bat-mitzvah, my husband saw something flashing up the stairs.
Then down the stairs.
Then along the hall, where it slipped beneath the door to the basement.
That's what my husband says, and I believe him.
My husband used masking tape to seal the area beneath the door to the basement.
Monday I phoned Michael the exterminator and described the hand-width my husband showed me to indicate Jerry's length.
"That's a rat," says Michael.
I'm thrilled. "When can you come?" I asked.
"I'll be there today, I promise."
Michael hasn't come yet.
Jerry has been awfully quiet.