I've had a fear of rats for as long as I can remember.

I don't know exactly what it is about them that scares me.

It's not just the tale, or the way they move, or how they sound.

It is everything, and it is nothing.

To me, rats have always been synonymous with unconditional terror.

It all comes from a childhood trauma.

A large rat chased me up a hill where I had to hide in a tool shed.

Another thing seemed rabid, and I had to sit in there for at least an hour listening

to the squeals and cries of the desperate thing that wanted to eat me.

It was an unusually big rat, larger than some cats have seen.

It's called mocephobia, and up until recently, it hasn't really been an issue.

I mean sure, I can get panic attacks and a flight reaction by just seeing one, but I've

been able to keep them out of my life more often than not.

Now that I'm apparent, I won't let my two kids have a hamster, but I'm pretty sure

the Yorkshire Terrier we have keeps them busy.

My phobia became an issue not too long ago.

I was driving the kids home from school.

Traffic was being rerouted for maintenance, so I had to take a small dirt road instead

of staying on main.

It wasn't far, and there was barely any traffic.

The road goes by a set of fishing cabins, set up around the lake, but was extended

to lead back to the main road further up ahead.

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