The war of the rats...

I cannot "a tale unfold, whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part and each particular hair to stand on end, like quills upon the fretful porpentine [or porcupine to most of us]" because I am not clever with words and have not plumbed the depths of human tragedy. Dostoyevsky, Gobol, or possibly Tolstoy would have done it well. Yet as your humble (or possibly not so humble) chronicler of these adventures I will do my best.
As the song says, "This is the end, beautiful friend, the end. Of our elaborate plans the end." The war between good and evil, vermin and human, stealing and a hard days work rewarded has gone on for centuries. Before we were born and long after we are gone it will continue. However, each of us has the responsibility, nay the duty to do our little part. When darkness raises its ugly head or perhaps chews on the wood in your walls, one and all must come to the aid of the party. Cry Havoc! and let loose the traps (filled with peanut butter and dog food) of war.
With no defiance sent or formal declaration of war, we were invaded. The scurrying of feet and gnawing of wood as they entrenched themselves beneath our very feet was all we heard. Measures were taken. The stench of Death filled the heater vents. Long adventures to the underworld of our house were taken. Their defeat was inevitable.
Now we raise the victory flag. They were not our beloved adversary such a dandelions or stink weed. No they go to their garbage can (wrapped in a sealed bag) unwept, unmourned, forgotten. So we pass from this dark day with a lesson learned... Seal up your dog and bird food.