So A Rat Just Ran Across My Feet...

Okay, so a huge rat, maybe 600 pounds, just ran across my freaking feet while I was getting nails to shore up a small hole in the ceiling. So, as I'm a freaking baby around rats--and I thought I got over it when I woke once and a rat was biting my hand and I flung it against a wall (thought I'd killed it but no such luck, they're very tough little guys)--I immediately called Italo, whom I met on the highway this afternoon at 70 MPH when he pulled up on me suddenly and gave me a great big "YEAH!" fist--but he was too tired. So he sent Marco, who took a plunger to trap the poor thing--swear to god the thing was way way way bigger than a plunger, length wise, though I know I'm exaggerating. Marco couldn't find him. Damn.
So now the thing is back in the attic--or there are more than one, which generally happens--and Marco just put up a board on the hole in the ceiling which will prevent the damned thing from falling on me, at least temporarily. So Marco, who is the bravest guy around rats you ever saw, was laughing at me: "Dad, you're not afraid of caiman or anacondas or vipers. You're not afraid to give people ayahuasca and you can handle it when they go temporarily nuts. You wipe their rear ends when they shit themselves. You take on patients that you don't even know and try to help them. But you're a freaking sissy around rats. Why is that?"
What the heck am I going to tell him? He's right. I'm just afraid because I got afraid as a kid, and when it comes to rats, I'm like 6-years old. I just can't handle it. I've thought of it as Catholic devil images--I was raised pretty good Catholic and a lot of images of the devil had rats around his feet--and I've thought of it a million other ways. No helping it: I'm a coward in the face of six ounce rats. Clare and I were in Seville, Spain, one night 28 years ago and a rat ran across the street in front of us and I swear it had three mid-sections, big enough to have 75 babies, and if you don't believe me ask Clare--and that was the end of Seville for me, even in front of my woman I didn't have courage.
Damn. Wish I was braver. Wish I had guts. But sometimes I just don't. And rats are one, many, of those times.
And Marco won't even stay for dinner, which I was hoping he would so he could kill the rat when it exposes itself. And he won't sleep here because his sometimes girlfriend might just put a little grace on him.
So I'm alone.
If Madeleina was here I'd be the big guy, protecting her. But she's not. She slept at Mom's last night and is getting her hair cut right now so I have no one to show off to. In which case I revert to being the freaking chicken that I am.
Damn. More than you wanted to know, right? I mean, P Gorman is supposed to have some spine.
Most of the time I'm the best. Bring rats in to walk across my feet and you'll find out the weak points for sure.
Ah, life, you have a way of undressing me that I find uncomfortable. But then, that's my weakness to work on. Thanks for the opportunity, though I hate getting it.