Ding dong the rat is dead!

Last night I walked into the apartment after debriefing and devotion time with the team to find Colleen sitting on the couch working on the computer.  I walked across the room to set my things on the table when she very calmly stated, "The rat is in here."  With widened eyes I screeched, "Are you kidding?"
"No, he ran in awhile ago, and went into the kitchen.  He hasn't left."
Why was she telling me this so calmly?  Didn't she understand the urgency of a rodent in the house with me awake, and fully aware of the situation? 
Enter Caleb, missionary from Tennessee.  He went into the kitchen to see if he could find the rat.  Nope, no rat here.  I made him go back and look again (I gave this direction from my post on top of the chair in the living room).  He moved the refrigerator, and like a rocket shooting around the outside of the room ran the rat.  Right. past. me.
I will be honest and tell you that I screamed louder than I have ever screamed before.  I may have a career in the horror-movie screaming business.  The rat ran past me and behind a cabinet.  Caleb went to get it, and found that it had climbed the back of the cabinet and was attempting to climb the curtains. 
By this time, Colleen had joined me in standing on top of the furniture.  I received the instruction to go upstairs and close the door.  So I did.  And as I closed the bedroom door, Colleen started yelling to me that the rat was on its way up the stairs.  "Colleen!" I shouted in my are-you-kidding-me voice.  She wasn't kidding.  The rat had run across the middle of the room, up a square steel pole, up several stairs, and headed into the bathroom with Caleb in hot pursuit.  I heard some crashing and stomping, then thundering down the stairs with the exclamation from Colleen, "HE'S GOT IT IN HIS HANDS!"
Sure enough, Caleb had stepped on it (barefoot!) in the bathroom, stunned it enough so that it staggered down the stairs and was caught by Caleb with his bare hands.  He took it outside and threw it far far away.
As I descended the stairs, with my hand to my chest I said, "I can't really breathe.  Did that just happen?"
The answer was yes, yes it did.  I sat down and started singing, "Ding dong, the rat is dead, which oh rat, the germy rat.  Ding dong the wicked rat is dead."
Another missionary arrived a short while later to share our apartment of the evening.  We began telling her the story, and as she began to sing, "Ding dong the rat is dead..." she pulled Little Debby Chocolate Cakes from her bag and said, "Chocolate cake to celebrate?"