The Chronicles of Rattick

The past couple of days have been a bit of an adventure here at La Casa della Lesbica. One of our furry children (toss up between Zak and Noodle) saw fit to bring a live rat into the house. I suppose killing is a lot more fun to do at home.

In any case, this rat, a seemingly intelligent and resourceful type, managed to escape unharmed from feline clutches to hide in the living room.

Where in the living room? Under my altar. Then under both couches. Then under the TV stand and even making a dash for the book case, amongst the books.

I suspected something was up when I came home on Wednesday afternoon and spotted Noodle, Tinkie and Zak trying to get behind my altar. I figured that a) something live was in the house and hiding or b) something live had been in the house hiding, but was no longer there. I decided that I would leave the cats, being experts in catching things, would eventually corner and murder this poor creature - whatever it was.

So, after trying in vain to fall asleep, I got up at 1am this morning for a visit to the bathroom. I hadn't even made it to the bathroom door when an unholy racket erupted in the living room with hissing cats and a squeaking creature. It was under one of the couches. I moved the couch and caught a glimpse of a twitchy nose, beady eyes and whiskers. It was the creature that I came to call Ratty.

I tried in vain for an hour to get Ratty to safety, but he (assuming that was his gender since I know nothing about sexing vermin) would have none of it. I chased him around the living room and even upstairs and back down again. Finally, around 2am, I announced that I was leaving his fate in the paws of the cats. He was on his own.

When I got up this morning there were no corpses. The brave little rat was still alive. Bastard.

I returned this afternoon from a two-hour Buddhist chanting session. Still no corpse. Bastard.

I set about trying to coax Ratty into a box by enticing him with a piece of cheese on the end of a stick. Ratty simply pulled the cheese off the stick and ate it while I watched. Smug little bastard. Zak took over the vigil for me and I went outside and mowed the lawn. Upon my return, I discovered that Zakky had cornered the rat between the CD stand and the bookcase. Excellent.

Armed with a box, I managed to use an old plastic lid to scoop him inside his new home and quickly closed the lid of the box. I took him out to a nice grassy patch (where I am sure he was hunted from originally) and opened the box. Ratty didn't want to come out. Bastard.

After a couple of minutes of sweet talk, Ratty made a happy bolt for freedom and lives to fight another day.