Read by Michael Flamel

In the sunny backyard of my family home in California, there stood a proud lemon tree—a dwarf in name, but a giant in stature, towering over us at 10-feet tall. With its dense foliage resembling a green cupcake speckled with yellow sprinkles, it was a sight to behold. Yet, amidst its abundance, a silent battle raged against unseen adversaries.

It all began innocently enough, with the occasional sighting of a lone, naked lemon hanging from the branches. A peculiar sight, as if a surgical hand had meticulously stripped it of its zest and rind. Little did I know, this was merely the prelude to a citrus caper of epic proportions.

As the mystery of the naked lemons deepened, I sought counsel from a seasoned gardener at a local nursery. With a demeanor reminiscent of Clint Eastwood, albeit with more wrinkles, she delivered the verdict—roof rats. These agile athletes, capable of feats like leaping three feet in the air and scaling heights with ease, were the culprits behind the plunder of my lemon treasure trove.

Determined to outsmart these cunning rodents, I embarked on a series of defensive maneuvers. From wire-mesh fences bristling with sharp prongs to motion-sensing spotlights that turned my backyard into an unintentional disco, I spared no effort in protecting my citrus bounty. Yet, each tactic was met with ingenious resistance from the rats, leaving me perplexed and lemon-less.

In a desperate bid to reclaim my harvest, I ventured into the realm of offensive tactics. Armed with Victor snapping traps baited with cheese and peanut butter, I waged war on the invaders. Yet, even these lethal contraptions proved no match for the cunning rodents, who deftly liberated the bait without triggering the traps.

Undeterred, I resorted to the ultimate deterrent—the fiery wrath of Bhut jolokia, infused into a sticky concoction to ensnare the unsuspecting rats. But alas, my plan backfired, empowering the rodents to scale the lemon tree with newfound agility, their burning paws driving them to greater heights of mischief.

Amidst the chaos, I found solace in whimsical musings, envisioning Shakespearean rat dramas unfolding amidst the branches, while pondering the merits of rat-themed pet ownership and the culinary hazards of Bhut jolokia.

As the battle rages on, with aluminum armor now adorning the lemon tree in a bid to foil the resilient rodents, I am reminded that the struggle for citrus supremacy knows no bounds. Yet, in the face of adversity, I cling to hope, for as long as there are lemons to protect, the fight continues.

And so, I stand, a grudging gardener amidst the lemon-scented battleground, armed with determination and a dash of humor, ready to face whatever challenges the rodent realm may throw my way.

If all else fails, there remains but one battle cry to rally my spirits: “Rats!” ❖

About the Author: Kevin MacBailey, known affectionately as “The Grudging Gardener,” is a biologist and writer based in Seattle, Washington. With roots tracing back to his family home in Salinas, California, Kevin’s passion for gardening and storytelling intertwines in his humorous tales of battling nature’s mischievous forces. When not waging war against backyard rodents, he can be found exploring the wonders of the natural world or penning whimsical anecdotes from his lemon-scented adventures.