I’ve got someone living under my shed.
I met him last week, he was sat in my plant pot. Pleased as punch. He has a long tail and he scares me. I have a rat living under my shed.
This might seem like an obvious one but I don’t like rats. I mean I struggle with spiders so I never stood a chance against a rat. I don’t like any unwelcome creatures or critters. I don’t even really like moths.
Does anyone really like moths? I’d be a bit thrown if that was on someone’s list of likes.
‘So what kind of things do you like?’
‘Moths. I love moths.’
I’ve named the rat ‘Ratty’ and I’m genuinely scared of him. I’m struggling to leave the house. I’ve got an irrational fear that he’ll run up my trouser leg. A bit like how I don’t like leaving my leg sticking out of the duvet at night incase it get’s grabbed.
My Dad once killed a rat with a cricket bat. Earlier that day, he’d been painting his motorbike. In what can only be described as an extremely unfortunate coincidence, he was painting his motorbike red. Some kids had sadly witnessed the rat murder. They were then twice as horrified when they thought the red paint on his overalls was blood, making him look like some sort of rat serial killer. It went round the estate that he was performing a cricket bat rat massacre and he was feared by children for years to come.
I’m not about to go all psycho killer on this rat. (Not that I’m calling my Dad a psycho killer).
I did what all millennials do in this situation and I called a man. A rat man will come and fix my problems. At least that’s what I thought until I got quoted £200. Needless to say I wasn’t about to pay that much. I was so outraged by the quote that I gave them a piece of my mind. I didn’t hold back. No way does somebody take me for a ride, I told them. No way does somebody quote me £200, I told them.
I politely rejected their quote via email and blocked their number.
So I’ve bought some rat traps, and I’ve bought some cheese. Rats like cheese yeah?
Or is that just mice?
I don’t want to kill Ratty. I don’t want to kill anything. I once stood on a snail and I felt guilty for weeks. I get the feeling it’s not going to be anything like when I played ‘Splat The Rat’ at school. I was in year 4 and it was the school fair. Mr. Moore held a rat teddy (I assume it was his own personal rat teddy) at the top of a bit of drainpipe. I then had to hit (or SPLAT!) the rat with a cricket bat. It was really hard to time but it was fun. It’s a lot more fun than I just made it sound.
I also didn’t intentionally start writing this blog post to be mainly about hitting rats with cricket bats. Turns out I’ve got a lot of stories about hitting rats with cricket bats.
I want to eat the cheese that we bought for the rat. There’s not often a lot of cheese in our house. I only usually eat cheese at Christmas. He’s only been here a few days and he’s already getting cheese bought for him. Not that I’m jealous of the rat.
Apparently rats like peanut butter. I bet he ends up getting extra crunchy. He’s so smug. Not that I’m jealous of the rat.
Soon he’ll be dead and then who’ll be laughing? Me, that’s who.
Laughing as I clean up a dead rat.