Our house is under attack.

Last night I received a disturbing phone call while at dinner at Melissa's. It was Annie. She sounded upset. "Elizabeth," she said, "there are rats on the house."
"What?!" I said with panic in my voice.
She was taking Arnie for a walk, and when she got back to put him outside, that's when she saw the army of darkness. The rat brigade. ON the bars of our windows on our patio. ON THEM. Crawling DOWN them. She thought there were approximately 2-3 of them.
My solution was to call our landlord. That's what they do, right? Right?? They save us. There was no answer on his phone. My next suggestion? Well, call the cavalry, of course. Who you gonna call? Kat and Karl, duh. Karl likes to shoot things.
The good friends that they are came right over, trusty shooter in hand. The next few hours consisted of us sitting in the lodge, waiting for the little fiends to come down the window. When they would appear, I'd squeal, grab Kat's leg and Karl would go into stealth mode. He'd grab the beebee gun, dart outside, quietly open the gate, and they would inevitably run away. Every time. But he sure did give it a try. Thanks, Karl. You're our hero! What would we do without you??
The rats still live. I will keep you posted.