A Rat In The House

Warning! Graphic Content Which Some Readers Might Find Upsetting.

When Hannah had a mouse problem she did not want to use conventional mouse traps that injure or kill the little varmints. A humane mouse trap was researched, purchased, baited with bread and raisins and placed under the kitchen sink.

Over a period of two weeks she trapped over thirty mice and, as each little prisoner was taken outside and tenderly released, it became apparent that they were coming straight back in again. That bait was so tempting especially as she was now offering up Ziggy’s doggy treats. Over time we noted that the mice were looking exceptionally well-nourished and sleek.

It was around then that our cats Holly and Fred rediscovered the joys of hunting. They were even eating the mice, leaving nothing behind but tails and intestines.

By the time we came upon this scene, there was nothing to be done to save the mouse

Then - they upped their game. Nellybert were pottering around the kitchen when we heard a high-pitched squeal. Big Fat Fred had brought in a baby rat with intent to murder. Bert wasn't having it. He shouted at Fred who dropped the ratling and ran off.

Close the doors! We’ll catch it and drive it outside!

We didn’t catch it but we drove it – to the safe haven underneath the kitchen units. I thought Bert had fitted them tightly but it seemed not tightly enough to prevent a baby rat slipping under to safety. (Everything is always Bert’s fault).

So. There is a rat living in our house. I am appalled.

I say,

A rat in the house! You know, if this had happened to my mother she’d have been straight on the Ballymena bus, into the Housing Executive to demand a new house. And in those days she’d have got one!

Bert goes quiet. I decide not to make a big thing of it and go outside to water my seedlings. At the back of my mind, I am thinking – there is a rat living in my house.

When I go back inside I find that Bert has a plan, a good plan. The rat is only a baby. It will fit into Hannah’s humane trap. So it is sorted, and already baited with one of Ziggy’s yummy dog treats.

Several hours later I check the trap. And there is the ratling, scoffing on doggy snacks and somewhat perturbed to find itself without an escape route. I take it outside and release it. I expect it to head for the wilderness behind the shed but makes a poor decision, doubles back and scampers into the shed.

Bert was all concern when I told him.

There’s no escape route from that shed, nowhere to hide.

So out I go again to rescue ratling and find it cowering in a corner. A bit of a chase and off it goes. Rats are fast, even baby ones but it did have a good energy boost from that dog treat. It runs to the top of the shed, into the tractor house and behind a pile of compost bags. To safety.

Wrong. Holly de Cat pounces and again, foolishly, I manage to chase her away. She cannot have been that interested for she follows me, strolling carelessly, into the house. The ratling is safe, for now, and gets to live another day although the cats might get it in the end. If not, it begins a dynasty of very lucky rats.

Soon afterwards I received a series of ads on social media. How on earth do they know?