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Teach the Human to Hunt

by Helen S, Norfolk, UK


Yesterday Waffles decided it was about time the "stoopid hoomins" had a lesson in hunting for food...

It was not a good day. I had the mother of all migraines and I was struggling to do some essential business work on the PC - not a good combination. Next thing Vernon and I notice, Waffles wanders in, live rat in mouth. Ratty looked alive and well and to all intents and purposes was enjoying his taxi ride in a feline mouth.

Waffles dropped Ratty on the office floor. Ratty started to scamper about. Waffles looked at Marble. Marble looked at Waffles. Waffles and Marble looked at Vernon and I with a look that said, "Let the Games commence!"

The next fifteen minutes saw two cats sit nonchalently in the centre of the office smiling quietly at two "stoopid hoomins" making complete a**es of themselves chasing a rat about the room. Ratty thought this was a good game to start off with and would make a dash for the nearest cupboard, turning to blow a raspberry at us just before disappearing to relative safety. Ever had a rat stick the finger up at you? It does nothing for the self-esteem.

By now, Waffles and Marble were sat in the midle of the floor holding up score cards giving Vernon and I marks out of ten for technical merit and artistic interpretation . I won hands down on the artistic interpretation side due to the range and variation in tone of my screams and shrieks. I also had a nifty line in fancy footwork as Ratty ran between my legs and tried to climb up my trousers. Vernon won on the technical merit as he was the one who finally managed to pin Ratty down under a bin and then stick a lid on it.

Next thing I knew, Vernon managed to stuff Ratty in bin into my hands and in a deep, manly voice said, "How are you going to kill it darling?" Who the *&()% does he think I am??? Xena, Warrior Princess???? He's been drinking too much caffeine and it's making him fantasise.

I wandered out into the garden thinking, I can't kill Ratty - as soon as I open the bin he'll leap up at me! I didn't fancy being eaten by Ratty, Monster Rat from Mars. Okay, I was chicken about killing something.

So I wandered over to the stream and emptied Ratty out over the water. Ratty emerged from the bin in a neat triple back somerault with pike dive and didn't make so much as a splash as he entered the water and swam off. David Hasselhoff sprang to mind. Perhaps those were lifeguard red bathing trunks Ratty was wearing. I conceded to myself that I was probably hallucinating through the stress of it all and should go in for a lie down.

Migraines and chasing rats do not go well together.

Then today...

Do I need this????

Do I????

The little furry s**tbag!!!!

Waffles strolls in through the cat flap - live rat in her jaws and lets it go free. IN MY KITCHEN!!! Return of Ratty, Killer Rat form Mars! I swear I could hear it laughing at me as Waffles carefully allowed Ratty to descend unharmed from her jaws - taxi service fulfilled.

It took Testosterone Man (Vernon) and I a full 20 minutes to catch the darned thing as it managed to get in cupboards, under the fridge freezer etc..

In the meantime, Waffles, Francis and Marble just sat there! Those score cards came out again.

At one point, the rat ran underneath Marble. Marble sat there with a Ratty peeking out from under his belly blowing a raspberry and sticking the finger up at Vernon and I. Marble looked like a mother hen protecting her chick! I ask you! A cat nesting a rat! Now I've seen it all!

Next thing I know, Waffles strolls out of the house via the catflap leaving Vernon and I to get on with it. Ratty stays in the house, hiding at the back of the fridge. Vernon calls after Waffles in vaguely obscene terms, questioning her parentage and asking her where the *&Y*XX*% she thinks she's off to.

We moved it all - stuff in and out of cupboards, in and out of the fridge, moved the microwave, moved the fridge... the earth moved...

Eventually I managed to catch it in the same bin that we used yesterday. Once again I wandered out of the house carrying rat in bin, followed by manly cries of, "Do you think you should kill it darling?" I politely remind my best beloved that contrary to his deepest fantasy, I'm not Xena, Warrior Princess and in my view, as Ratty has put up such a good fight I think that if Ratty can manage to swim across the stream, Ratty deserves a third chance. I warned Ratty that if he deigned to return, I might just serve him up as rat risotto to the cats after all...

I think I need to go lie down.

Anyone got any Prozac????


Editor's note:

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