Don't tell Trin, but cats are vile.
A few days ago I noticed a smell in my lounge, not that unusual an occurence, but this was BAD. I tried dosing it with Lonsdale deodorant and opening the window and not breathing, but it just got worse and worse. I have a scheduled biennial rent check this week (now cancelled) so I thought I'd actually run a duster over the place and in the course of this I pulled out the settee where the smell seemed to be coming from. I'd half expected a decaying mouse, but never expected to find the above, a big old fuck off rat. At least he wasn't maggoty! I'm a bit squeamish - though nowhere near as bad as a townie - so carefully picked him up by his tail and tried to chuck him over next door's garden. Unfortunately on the way over the sheer weight of him and the inexorable pull of gravity meant that he collided with a leylandii and slid down the trunk (surprisingly gracefully) and back into my garden. I thought I'd take a picture of him lying at the bottom all peaceful and hope that his posthumous fame on this blog will be some compensation for his sad demise. Messages of condolence are more than welcome.
I imagine what happened is that one of my elderly but sprightly and fascist cats surprised the fellow, brought him in alive, let him go for a play, then lost interest. Meanwhile Ratty, dazed and confused and a little put out hid behind the settee waiting for the cat/s to go out. Which they obviously never did. And with access to just a few mouldy old Love Hearts, an off Fudge, 3 half-eaten Froggoes (best before 05/01/03) and a dead spider he sadly passed away from thirst and hunger (and boredom).
Nature raw in tooth and claw - and coming to a front room near you.
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