BY HARRY WEEKES
The 1995 movie “The Usual Suspects” introduced a fictional supercriminal named Keyser Söze, whose legend was based primarily on his elusiveness. He was everywhere, and nowhere. Since then, I’ve adopted the name more generally to apply to all of those little and big things that leave a trace but are never seen. I’ve assigned Keyser Söze’s name to all sorts of things, like whomever leaves the droppings in the corner of my garage.
These droppings are to mouse droppings what moose droppings are to mule deer droppings—same general shape, just a whole lot bigger. This particular Keyser Söze is a packrat—a name I use with a kind of familiar nonchalance that comes not from any actual contact, but rather from the fact that it was the packrat that my mother always invoked around some small rodentia mystery, as in “packrat probably took it.”
Packrats now live in the same space as things like Menehunes, Leprechauns and Brownies—small beings out living their lives and in the process messing with humans. Packrats are known to randomly gather shiny objects and collect them in their middens, stealing off with stray bracelets and car parts and electrical wiring. Fortunately, the packrat in my garage seemed to leave everything alone, and leave only droppings. This had been our five-year relationship.
And then, by an unfortunate twist of fate, the packrat and the cat met. At first, I thought the body in the garage was a squirrel—a big gray squirrel. It was huge. Since I don’t live where there are any trees, I was curious. I picked up what was left of the animal and realized that it was no squirrel; the fur was soft and velvety, almost like a chinchilla, and the tail was distinct and feathery.
It is always a bit weird to be holding something that is so obviously present in one’s environment, and at the same time so foreign. This creature shared the same space as me, yet I had never seen it. In looking it up, I found out many things, amongst which were that this beast was most likely a bushy-tailed woodrat, and that packrat is the general term people use to talk about over 20 different kinds of woodrats common in this part of the country.
I was ruminating on my bushy-tailed neighbor when, a day later, I got a text from my wife, filled with all of the alarm possible in capitalized letters (WHAT IS THIS) and open-mouthed emojis. The text also included video and a picture of—you guessed it—another bushy-tailed woodrat, this one living in my in-laws’ grill and featured at the header of this article.
And, no sooner than a weekafter this, my students and I were helping harvest beets and beans at the Bloom Farm, and amongst the animals that had made an appearance this season? Yep, a woodrat.
Now, I don’t know if it is a particularly woodratty year, or if that peculiar thing is happening when you start to focus your attention on something you have never thought about before and then start finding it everywhere, but it would appear that this Keyser Söze is stepping out into the light. Look for these little beasts in and around your house, and keep your eye on your jewelry.
Harry Weekes is the founder and head of school at The Sage School in Hailey. This is his 47th year in the Wood River Valley, where he lives with his wife Hilary and their three kids—Georgia, Penelope and Simon—a nice little flock.
