Reaching My Limit

Granada maids annihilate mouse

Nicaraguans have a peaceful relationship with birds. Doves have flown in above us several times during worship services. During one, a dove rested on the altar before departing. Each bird flight was ignored by everyone, except for us.

Here, in the open-to-the outdoors kitchen of the Hernandez guest house, and occasional pigeon perches on the floor, pecks a few crumbs, and then waddles toward the door, without any sudden shooshing by the cook.

Not so with mice. 

When Marlo spotted a mouse on tiled floor of our Granada hotel, the maids were ruthless. Each grabbed a broom, and they attacked. They killed it handily, swept it up, and disposed of it. There were no girlish screams or climbing on chairs, just a few chuckles and an efficient disposal.

Tonight, Josiel Hernandez was on the stairs, phoning in a reservation for us at a Carlos and Luis Mejia Godoy performance, when I saw something flit past him. He glanced up and kept on talking. Reservation complete, Marlo told him something had flown by.  “Oh, that,” he said dismissively, “that was a . . . a. . .” 

He couldn’t think of the English word.

So I supplied it.

“A bat?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

He put his cell phone in his pocket and nonchalantly headed toward his room.

In Nicaraguan taxonomy, this winged rodent is, apparently, a bird.

Hmmm.

I know that these winged creatures have their role in God’s great world.

And I’m willing to be cross-culturally sensitive.

But I have limits.

As I sit in our bedroom with the door hermetically sealed against invasion,I hold this truth to be self evident:

It matters not what Nicaraguans think about a bat

It was, is, and forever shall remain . . . a rat.