Rats and Marco

Okay, my son Marco and I have spent at least part of the last 19 or so years fighting with one another. At least half my fault, some his. He's obstinate, won't do what's asked, thinks of himself before thinking of others.
On the other hand, he's also the only 23 year old in the world who would come into the house, see a stranger--to him--sitting on the couch, and then, in a completely uninhibited way, sit in my lap and put his arms around my neck.
So while he's the worst, he's the best, and I love him always.
Today he's best: I was writing when creaking began in the kitchen. I had about 10 wonderful people over for the weekend and it was glorious, and they left Sunday and yesterday. Everything cool. So this morning I was back at work at the computer when the wall behind the kitchen food cabinets began to creak. I don't mean a little settling, I mean creaking and creaking, like a rat was trying to go from inside the wall into the rear of the cabinet.
Not much I can do since rats, in my house, terrify me in a way that goes back to a childhood fear. Something devilish about them, and I just freak out. So I was not going to do more than a cursory investigation. I did. No signs of anything. And the creaking stopped.
But then it started up again.
Nothing to do but call Marco and tell him to come over and help find and kill a rat.
He didn't argue. He didn't hesitate. He just got here, opened the cabinet that I'd been too afraid to open, declare that there were no holes in the rear that would allow entry and no rat poop.
"Probably in the wall, dad. You know, from the gaps in the flooring under the house."
Then he took $20 and went to go buy a few cans of sealant. And when he comes back he'll crawl under the house and seal the cracks.
And then I'll be safe.
And not so scared.
Two nights ago I killed a black widow with an empty pack of cigarettes. No sweat. No fear. Just a spider.
But a field rat?
I'm two years old again and want my dad to fix it, quick.
Thanks, Marco.