One of the *&^%£* cats brought home a dead rat tonight. I found it lying on the dining room floor, dead but otherwise unmarked. It was quite a young rat in that it was about nine inches long, but it was still a rat. Yuck!
Now the cats have got pretty good at this rodent/bird murdering thing. We get a lot of voles and mice, some common shrews and a sprinkling of starlings, sparrows, blue tits and robins. Sometimes all we get is a tail and small pile of rodent insides. Or feathers. But usually (up to five or six times a night, sometimes) we get a proud and very distinctive "meiow" from the hallway and it's a small rodent. For us.
Dead ones get flushed down the toilet and live ones that look in reasonable condition get taken back over to the park and released for the next round. The unfortunate inbetweens get killed either by me breaking their necks or Hubby flushing them down the loo to drown. But rats? I can cope with a dead rat, though they're too big to flush. (Double bag and dustbin.) Now though, the prospect looms of a half-dead rat offering, or worse still, a very live rat that does a runner somewhere inside the house. Yuckyuckyuck!!
Okay, who did it then? And to think I gave you a big bowl of chicken scraps each only an hour ago!