Rativity
Posted in Foggle on 25. Jan, 2010
Remember the rat in the kitchen? No? Remind yourself here then.
It just wouldn’t be a new week if I didn’t get the chance to write about rats.
Seemed nocturnal-kitchen-rattus was a bit annoyed when, on its return the following evening it discovered the entrance at the top of the rat-ramp was firmly locked.
So it did what all angry rats do and it moved into the ceiling with much of its family and they set about building themselves a resort among the pink batts. To my utter dismay I had to report Rativity to Mr Scott who had returned to Auckland.
In the meantime until Mr Scott’s return, I listened to the rats bringing in the earthmoving machinery and digging a swimming complex complete with perpetual wave machine and kiddy-pool because they’d already completed the nursery and kindergarten and were accepting new entrants. I lay in bed at night thinking not of England but of just how loud I would scream if one of those rats fell asleep at the wheel of its bulldozer and came straight through the ceiling. Right above my head.
Mr Scott arrived armed with traps and peanut butter but it’s the end of the holiday and we’d run out of bacon which clings to a trap hook like a limpet and ensures a successful snare. The first day we tried sausage smeared in lovely organic peanut butter and the clever rodents sent in their special-army-soldier rats who managed to eat the snacks without being caught.
Undeterred Mr Scott and I peered at the diminished refrigerator contents and decided the special rat catching dogs could share their lamb chops. With a bit of raw lamb and a dollop of peanut butter on the trap hooks (I feel a new recipe coming on!) Mr Scott headed back into the ceiling access through the small hole at the top of the wardrobe like some sort of reverse Santa. And all our Christmases came within the next few hours. [Time to look away if you don’t like trapkill].
As all the best copywriting goes … the results speak for themselves.
Strike One!
Strike Two … literally!
Special rat-catching dog gets a few pointers.
Strike Three … OUT!
Apologies for the awful photography but each photo was taken with my eyes wide shut.
They’re mice you wimp! Rats, especially the type you get in NZ are huge. That’s just pathetic.
Oh, so you’re a RAT WHISPERER now, are you? These were from the kindergarten. The city rats are bigger because they live in dumpsters and eat KFC. If you like, I can put some of my “mice” in your ceiling and we’ll see what you call them then! Huh?
google the Norwegian rat! I did and I can’t copy and paste for the flipping life of me! One of the images has mouse, ship rat, norwegian rat.
But if they are the baby rats, where are the parents as you can be sure they will be making more baby rats! Do you know where they are getting in. We had them here and they were coming in under a tile. Little sods can flatten themselves to get under doors. You don’t want to leave the bach to them when you go home. You can get a really good poison in nz looks like blue chicken feed. It works!
Pic 1 was badly shot. It is an adult. These rats won’t eat blue food. We’ve put it out for them. There was no rativity last night so Elvis, and his family, appear to have left the building. PG GW. B found a loose tile and put it back in place. Don’t think we could be that lucky that it was the entry point but who knows. I could leave Ed in the ceiling when we go. We don’t have the luxury of popping a Boa up there … MAF won’t let us have one.
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