Himself called me to the window yesterday evening to look at the cat – it was obvious that she'd caught something but at the same time she wasn’t keen on getting too close to it. She kept jumping backwards when whatever it was moved. She then went back again and tapped it with her paw. So we went outside for a closer look……

Some witch appears to have lost her familiar.

++++

Cat was in our bad books this morning for a totally different reason - she brought a fully grown adult rat in through the window during the night and this time it wasn’t me who’d got up and opened the window.

Now I don’t mind the mice etc, but rats? I draw the line at rats. Pet rats are fine - wild ones are nasty, horrible things. Himself was no use what-so-ever either, he hates them more than me (by that I'm not implying that Himself hates me, just rats, although I’m sure I annoy him at times). The cat obviously couldn’t understand what the fuss was all about and let it go to tell us we didn’t need to be scared, it was only a rat. The rat tried to get away.

You know, I’d have said it would have been nigh on impossible for two 40+ year olds to jump simultaneously vertically two foot up in the air and land on the bed in two seconds flat – but we managed it. It was amazing we didn't break the bed.

The cat looked at us for a second and then, thank God, caught the rat again just as it was going under the bed. And it squealed. Yes, I’m sure you’d say rats can’t squeal – but I beg to differ; they can and this one did. It was horrible.

The cat shot off down the stairs and I started shouting at Himself to do something about it – he in turn assured me he wasn’t going anywhere the bloody thing. The cat brought it in, she could bloody well kill it or take it out again.

Which left me stomping around the bedroom trying to find some clothes to put on – no way was I going near any rat in the nude. At the same time I was also casting aspirations on Himself’s bravery - so much for the mighty hunter - as he in turn made it quite clear he wasn’t the Pied Piper of Hamelin and he didn’t care that it was his fault the window was open.

I went downstairs, switched the light on and stuck my head cautiously around
door. The cat was sat looking under the book case, as soon as she saw me she got up and went into the kitchen – doing her ‘I’m a clever girl, feed me’ meow. Was she in for a surprised; I booted her back into the front room and shut the kitchen door. She wasn’t getting a thing until she caught that bloody big rat.

She wandered over to the sofa and jumped up on to the arm - she then sat there washing herself. And that has got to be the cat equivalent of ‘fuck you’.

Himself – from the safety of the upstairs landing – shouted down to ask if it was dead yet. I shall gloss over the next bit; you honestly don’t want to know what I said back. For a start you’d be shocked at just how many swear words I managed to get out with in the space of two minutes. And he still refused to come downstairs and help me – he has a rat phobia. Yeah, right, he’s not the only one!

In the end I went and got one of my dad’s walking sticks and the waste paper basket – the plan being to block off all around the book case with books and just leave two small gaps. One for the stick and one for the rat to run out from under the book case and into the basket. The cat, by the way, had now gone to sleep and Himself was still at the top of the stairs shouting down suggestions – I feel I showed great restraint when I didn’t issue any suggestion back again.

I pushed the stick underneath from the side and keeping the bin firmly pressed against the front of bookcase wiggled it around a bit. I made contact with the rat and then jump another two foot in the air. The rat stayed put – this wasn’t going according to plan.

Taking a deep breath, I tried again. I could feel the rat with the stick; it was soft and squidgy. After a few seconds it dawn on me that as I poked it, it wasn’t actually moving and there was obviously a really good reason for that – it was dead.

Mr Bravery Himself turned up at that point – well, let’s just say he had suck his head around the door. I was in the process of manoeuvring the dead body into the basket to take outside when he pipes up to be careful, it might just be pretending to be dead. Well it was a bloody good actor, that’s all I can say – it was on its side with its tongue hanging out of its mouth. I dumped it and the bin in the dustbin and left the stick outside – I shall have to clean that later. I then went and had a shower, I felt dirty, and Himself, true to form, went back to sleep.

++++

Feckenham Scarecrow Weekend Pictures