Pete and I were reading in bed last night, and there was a sort of scrabbling from under the bed. Kittins do scrabble, of course, but there seemed somehow to be a more concentrated aspect to this than usual.
So Pete got out and had a look. And found a rat. Dead, thankfully, but not for long, as it hadn’t stiffened up. Also thankfully, it was intact, despite Ron and Henry’s best efforts to open it. Pete has disposed of it.
A rat in February seems quite odd, and they certainly didn’t catch it themselves. We can only surmise that Aunt Lilith brought it in for them, as she is the only cat we have now who rats (as far as we know, of course). Perhaps she has commenced some sort of training regime.
|Originally published at the Tribe.|