Thursday, November 12, 2009

Der’s a rat on me path - what am I gonna do?

Well chuck it in the hedge for a start. Oh the joys of living in the country.

Mind you, they say that in London you are only ever 20feet from a rat. Chucking in the hedge there probably wouldn’t go down too well with the neighbours or ’elf and safety.

The rodent in question is a gift from the kitties, Those who have dipped a toe in previous blogs will have noted how we can never take just the one pet. The cats were the same - Went for one, came back with two.

The two in question were a Persian looking pure white fluff explosion and her kitten. Cats Protection told us that they had never been out of the flat they had been rescued from. Which, considering the presence of the kitten, was a miracle.

We took the immaculate cat and offspring home – they were perfect for wearing diamante collars while I sinisterly stroked them, hatching my evil plans for world domination.
I never did get round to ransoming the West with stolen Nukes – I was too busy bleeding. To stroke our cats you either need gauntlets, a cupboard full of elastoplast, or ninja reflexes training.

I can’t really take umbrage. The countryside round here was all too much for them. Within weeks of being in the great outdoors they had turned from house cats into feral beasts that wreaked an apocalypse on the surrounding area. Bringing down anything too small, too dumb or too slow to get out of the way – Darwin in action.

After their usual summer progress of only coming back to the house to gift us those small organs they either find especially choice, or more likely unpalatable, they were slinking in regularly. Snoring in corners, as the as days grew short and al fresco pickings grew thin. They would only wake in the evening for dinner and to keep claws in readiness for next spring by sinking them into our thighs – Cheers.

That was before the rumble. A few nights ago I was musing at the pc when the screams started underneath the window. By the time I got outside it was all over. Immaculate powered past me, shot through the door and was found in her preferred place on top of any research papers in the study. This is not normally a problem. Normally in a fight she is the winner. Pausing to wipe the blood off precious newspaper cuttings I inspected the damage.

There was blood on her lip from an impressive puncture wound and revenge in her eyes from losing - Given the mortal remains discovered earlier on the path I would say she has wreaked it.

Having been victorious in the rematch and unified the local belts she wrowled for us to inspect her victim. It was a whopper. As the better half performed the undertaking duties he pronounced it a ‘Queen Rat’ – All these years and two kids later, who knew he was an expert?

No wonder the cat has been walking around with an air of constipated smug satisfaction – she brought down the Queen, no less, and has thus been ennobled and enlivened to take on Gargantuan Puppy. They are now getting along like a house on fire – destruction, screaming, panic.

One of our houseguests this Christmas will be bringing a Pug called Simon to the mix.

Ding Dong merrily on high….

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