My post “Damned Rat” is a diary entry.
That’s how my day went yesterday.
We’ve got a damned rat, in fact everyone in our terrace block has; it’s a new thing – we never had rats before. They came to live with us because our neighbour at the bottom of the block has chickens in their garden and they store hay, flour and grains in their attic.
It wouldn’t be so bad, but considering four out of ten rooms of our house is pack rats haven its murder trying to find the rat – or rather it is difficult to find the rat to murder it.
The rat situation has kept me up until 7am because I can sense Paul’s fear in the other room.
I managed to sleep, only for an hour later to be woken up with a panicking shouting Paul about how the rat has eaten its way through our main water pipe and there is a flood in our kitchen and how this could potentially put us in debt by £500 again. Thankfully it was a false alarm, the rat didn’t do it – it was innocent, or as innocent as a rat can be that is.
I was like a zombie, I tried to go back to sleep when Paul took Henry to town to buy guillotine traps as an act of vengeance for the succulent plants I had, which the rat destroyed in its attempt of a feast.
I nurtured them from cuttings for years.
Cyril is our lemon tree, which will be next no doubt, it’s the only vegetation in the house that the rat could eat next, we can’t move it, and he is in a 50 litre pot and is around 4ft tall.
I don’t think we will laugh about this tomorrow, personally.
So yes, that prose was more or less biographical.
Thanks for reading.
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