I really enjoy my car. It's a 190E 2.3-16V, to many that last string may appear to be a funky password for a computer, but to a few, that set of numbers and letters is lightning in a bottle. While it's far from being valuable or the rarest of the collectibles, it is my first baby; the result of much saving and legwork while searching for 'just the right one'.
After driving it around for a couple of years, I decided that it would be prudent to start taking better care of the little automobile. Parts are hard to come by (it's getting quite old) and I wanted to preserve the general condition as I saved up to do a little restoration.
So, I have the garage reverted from it's bodega condition and I promote the car from its curb-side parking. The decision made so much easier after a mango decided to go banzai-bomber on the car roof. Feeling proud and content, I fell into the routine of keeping my car on the down-low and got into the habit of walking to work. Of course, I would happily visit my car everyday to give it a five minute run to keep the fluids going; and weekends were our time to re-bond.
Bliss.
Imagine my horror when I tried to start my car yesterday and was greeted by a *vrooom! sputter, sputter. bleh!*. I was stumped. Everything was peachy just the other day. What had changed? Kepner-Tregoe practices came to the surface uncontrollably. I popped open the hood and was perplexed by what I was looking at.
"Is that a chicken bone on my engine block? And that rice?"
After a quick consult with the security guard, we deduced that the culprit was... a rat. Quite literally, a rat. The scoundrelous rodent had climbed into my engine during the night and made a home. In the process, he/she/it figured that a little cleaning up was in order and proceeded to rid the chamber of the clutter that was my electrical wiring, some relays and who-knows-what-else.
Sigh.
The garage is empty now, my car towed away to my shop for inspection and resurrection. Rina thought it was funny.
*Sniff sniff*
