This is not a drill. This is not a rumor. I wish it were. Honestly, this might be the worst thing I’ve ever researched. Rats. In. The. Toilet. Like, actually in the toilet. The bowl. The place where you sit, ideally not screaming.
I had heard the stories, mostly told with nervous laughter—“My cousin’s roommate swears it happened to her!” Stuff like that. Urban legend territory. I laughed too, the first few times. Then I made the mistake of Googling it. Just to prove it was fake. It wasn’t.
Oh Yes, They Can
Here’s something you don’t want to learn at 11 p.m.: rats can swim. Like, Olympic-level swim. They hold their breath for minutes. They tread water like it’s their job. Some of them could probably outswim me. And they’re contortionists too. If you’ve got a hole the size of a quarter? They’re in.
I found out they can slither through the sewer system, climb all the way up the pipes, and—ta-da—pop out in your toilet like some horrible magic trick. A rodent jack-in-the-box, but the prize is trauma.
They’re Following the Scent
So apparently, sewer smells are like a dinner bell to rats. They smell leftover food, waste, whatever’s floating down there, and off they go. They wiggle through cracks and climb vents that I didn’t even know existed. Then they find a vertical drain pipe leading to your bathroom and just… go for it. Like it’s a slide. Only upwards. Which feels unfair, biologically speaking.
What If You Actually See One?
Okay, here’s where I almost had to take a break. Imagine: it’s 2 a.m. You shuffle into the bathroom half-asleep. Flip on the light. There’s movement. You look down. It’s staring back. You lock eyes. It’s in your toilet.
I’m not sure what I’d actually do. The first instinct is scream, maybe run. Maybe cry? Then burn the house down and start over somewhere cold where rats don’t exist. But let’s say I managed to stay semi-coherent. Here’s the plan I scribbled down while hyperventilating:
Close the lid. Fast. Like, Olympic sprint fast. Then stack a dictionary on top. Or your laundry basket. Whatever’s heavy and close. These rats are weirdly strong. You don’t want it leaping out and starting a chase scene.
Call someone. A professional. Not your mom. Unless she’s secretly pest control certified. They have gear, traps, maybe even emotional support if you’re me.
And if the rat’s already… you know, gone to the big sewer in the sky? Gloves. Double them. Use a bag. Then another bag. I practically mummified the last dead thing I had to handle (long story). After that, disinfect. Like, aggressively. You’ll never feel clean again, but it helps.
Important: Don’t Flush It
Alive or not—don’t hit the flush. If it’s alive, that’s just cruel. If it’s not, you risk clogging the pipes, and then guess what? Now it’s plumbing trauma too. No thanks.
What you can do later—once you stop shaking—is look into a backflow or non-return valve. Basically, it’s a one-way door. Everything leaves, nothing enters. Sounds good to me.
Check your pipes sometimes. I mean, I didn’t before, but now I squint suspiciously at every drain. Bathroom vents too. I had no idea how many paths into my house existed until rats made me paranoid about all of them.
Since learning all this, yeah, I definitely hover a little longer before sitting down. I do a quick glance, sometimes even a flashlight check. Which feels ridiculous until it doesn’t. Haven’t spotted one (yet), but let’s just say Zillow has seen more traffic from me lately.
And hey, laugh if you want. I would have, before. But now? Now I keep a thick book near the bathroom. Not for reading. For defense.
