the language
of love

Tess is a good cat. She was waiting for us at the bottom of the pathway when we got home tonight after having dinner at my Mums. She arched her back and rubbed my leg and hurried me up the path so I could feed her.

Gump, on the other hand, was in the hallway as I opened the front door, a guilty look on her face as she slinked towards the bathroom.

There was a monster rat bailed up in the bathroom. I shut the door with Gump inside and went to get a plastic container to catch the rat in.

There was a dead, somewhat desiccated, mouse on the living room floor. I picked it up by its tail and flung it outside into the de facto mouse cemetery at the front of the house.

With a magazine and a small plastic container I entered the bathroom. The rat, the cat, and me.

Damn rat was leaping up and scurrying about. Gump kept trying to corner it, but backed away when the rat showed its fangs. I kept jumping and yelling as the rat came at me.

Finally I thrust the container down over its head and body, pushed the magazine under, and carried it out the freedom in the garden.

Gump spent the next 30 minutes stalking Tess around the house.

When I was young, in my early 20's, if I found spider in the house - my bedroom, the hallway - the only way I could deal with it was by getting a glass and putting it over the spider, trapping it. Then letting one of my sisters get rid of it the next day.

I figured I did well with the rat.