The Actual Death of Rats

[akirlu]

Contrary to whatever you may have heard from Terry Pratchett, the Death of Rats is fluffy, green-eyed, unkempt, with black-and-mahogany guard hairs and a fuzzy, grayish undercoat. The Death of Rats lives with me.

Tinka was put out at being left home alone all weekend. She's been dubious about the cat tuna ever since we got home, and around midnight last night I opened the front door in response to plaintive kitty wails to find a glossy, medium-sized rat -- easily a third to half of Tinka's own mass -- laid out neatly on the welcome mat, its eyes still dewy and clear, like very fresh fish.

The good news, if you can call it that, is that Tink continues to be a good ratter. The less good news is that there are rats to be had. I really must have a chat with the rental office about more frequent garbage collection.

Comments

[mjlayman.livejournal.com]

When we got stationed at the Pentagon, Arlington County wouldn't hire my mother because she was a master teacher and she'd cost too much, so she worked sub whenever she wanted. On the days she was home, she would have chicken livers for lunch (because the rest of us didn't like them) and share them with Tiger. Tiger started bringing her the heads and livers of birds. I guess he thought he was contributing to lunch.