The Verdict -- Robert Gardner

Pack rats are a well-recognized branch of the rat family. They earn

their names by their habit of picking up each and every item they can

carry and taking them back to their homes. Obviously, their homes look

much like small piles of brush, weeds, twigs and junk.

In the human race, there is a clearly defined group also known as pack

rats. Now, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. A pack rat is not a

thief. He or she just picks up things that have no present owner capable

of fighting off the pack rat.

It has been my fortune, good or bad, to have among my friends a pack

rat. He is a nice guy -- honest, faithful, caring, thoughtful, wouldn’t

lie under torture. He would never think of stealing anything, but he

cannot resist picking up every single castoff item he comes across, no

matter how worthless. That would not be of any concern to me, except as

luck would have it, he thinks of my garage as his nest.

I will not have seen him for some time, but I’ll know he’s back in

town when I walk out to my garage and find a piece of wood painted green

or pink or chartreuse. Then I know my pack rat friend has visited. He was

walking down the street, minding his own business and there sticking out

of a trash can was this piece of wood. So what does he do? Does he walk

by like any normal person would? No way. He stops, picks up this

perfectly worthless piece of wood, walks several blocks or miles and

deposits it in my garage.

After he’s been around a few weeks, my garage begins to look like a

pack rat’s nest. Among the items he’s left over the years are a variety

of lamps, a desk, several television sets, a large glass tabletop,

surfboards, the sword off a swordfish, various pieces of lumber, shower

rods, bricks and enough clothes to stock a small department store.

He never uses any of the stuff, so it accumulates and, eventually,

when I find it difficult to walk through my garage, I call the Salvation

Army or Goodwill and have them take what they want, then I sneak the rest

out to the trash. I have to sneak it because if I left it out there

openly, he might walk by and it would end up right back in my garage.

I’ve tried dissuading him. He nods and smiles -- and the next day, my

garage contains a new treasure. I’ve locked the garage, but things still

appear. I wish I could explain all this. Perhaps a psychiatrist could. I

can’t.

He’s harmless -- not a wife beater or anything like that. Just a pack

rat who has made my garage his nest.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge. His

column runs Tuesdays.