Subway Wildlife

My old roommate should not read this post. Otherwise, she’ll never venture past the Mason Dixon Line again. She hates small animals like select species of birds, squirrels, bats, possums, and Chihuahuas. Ultimately, she mostly despises mice and rats. She virtually self-destructs if anything even remotely resembles a rodent.

I, on the other hand, sometimes like to torture myself with things I hate –scary movies, new hair stylists, exercise, and incredibly high heels. I accept that about myself. With that said, I’ve had one grotesque and disturbing fascination since moving to New York City. I wanted to see a rat; a disgustingly huge subway rat only found in the depths of New York’s subway system. Blame it on movies, blame it on TV, or blame it on my childhood pet hamster “Rocky”. My feelings won’t be hurt. Think of me what you will.

I just thank God she wasn’t in the subway at the Jamaica train station on Sunday night. I stood at the platform edge and peered down the tracks as they disappeared into the dark. Aha… a rat the size of a small cat drinking water from a puddle. I left my husband and maneuvered around waiting passengers (he doesn’t share my fascination). I stood three feet from the rat. I looked to my left. Another gaze met mine. A fellow rat watcher smiled at me. I smiled back acknowledging our shared curiosity.

Wait, ewwww, wait. There wasn’t just one rat, but three more behind it on the other side of the track. Suddenly, my interest waned. One rat was okay, but four? Gross. I walked back to my husband who was obviously questioning the vows we made in August. In sickness and in health? Check. Until death do us part? Check. Indulging in weird fascinations? Not so much. Oh, well. At least now I can cross that off my New York “To Do” list.