Rat tales

I have just seen the neighbours cat scampering across the garden with a large rat in his  mouth looking extremely pleased,  if you can imagine such an expression. This reminded me of an incident in a bar in India where we were passing away the hours before catching the sleeper train down to Kerala after our journey through Tamil Nadu. The bar in question was a bit like a strip club with a lot of plastic sticky  tables and stools bolted to the floor, facing the bar that was covered in grimy astro turf. To say it had seen better days would be rather an understatement. But it served beer,  and after the three hour wait we had already endured at the railway station trying to get tickets,  we were not being picky. Which was just as well. We duly ordered beers and were given some complimentary bowls of nibbles. The term nibbles is in fact literally what they were,  because on closer inspection it became clear that each of the slices of cucumber had large bite marks in them and that something had nibbled the edges. At this point there was a loud snapping sound coming from the bar, a terrible shrieking and squealing  and one of the waiters manoeuvred around all the customers on the way to the exit,  carrying a very large and very alive rat struggling in a trap. A little like when Misty the dog unearthed a live rat inside one of the sofas in our holiday house which she then proceeded to rip to shreds ( both the sofa and the rat) surrounded by a circle of silent horrified small children.

Tim once had a pet rat. She was called Wilma and he got her from a pair of bikers  who lived  in the high rise flats in Kennington and had a child called Harley Davidson. Tim  loved her, much more than we did,  but she was actually quite sweet in a ratty kind of way and very tame,  though she did manage to eat a whole tube of my apricot facial scrub which turned her fur orange,  along with copious amounts of my contraceptive pills. Tim used to walk around with her snuggled in his breast pocket, an activity that either repulsed or amused in equal proportions,  but I have to say we all grew quite fond of her. She  became so adept at escaping from her cage that we more or less gave her the run of the spare room. It was in the days before central heating when we all had gas fires in each room and she took up residence behind the fire place where she made herself a little nest of cotton buds and socks and assorted pilfered items. This arrangement worked perfectly well until the gas man came to do his regular annual gas check. Though we thought it was perfectly normal,  he was completely horrified and immediately condemned the gas fire, so  poor old Wilma was again confined to quarters. 

The only other pet we had of this nature was Amy the hamster, who came along when M was about six. Amy was much loved and very tame and amazingly survived living in the same house as cats. One Christmas we had arranged to look after another friends hamster while they were away. I tried to explain in no uncertain terms that no, the hamsters would not love each other and that they must never be allowed in the same cage. This obviously fell on deaf six year old ears and M duly put Amy into the other hamsters cage as she was convinced that they were lonely. Lo and behold, they went for each other,  resulting in a lot of blood, M getting bitten and fainting on the floor, and Amy being left with a large hole in her neck. And a mad dash to the vets before they shut for Christmas. And just as Tim was on the phone to the vet suggesting that he put her out of her misery,  all three children appeared and delivered a lecture so heartbreaking and convincing, stating that Christmas may as well be cancelled if it was to be without her,  that we immediately told him to get the drip going and operate. And so he did. By New Year she was back intact and lived at least another two years. Which was just as well seeing as the total cost for her including a cage came to £20.00. Cost of operation £150.00. Though this is better than my  dear friend who spent £800 on an operation for her cat. And the following week it got run over. Or my neighbour who spent an absolute eye watering fortune on a cockatoo and then one summer it flew out of the window never to be seen again. 

But then again its not about the money is it?