The Rattie Diaries

And now they’ve really gone too far. 

For months now, Tabitha’s bedroom has been geared around the rats.  We have dim, rat friendly lighting in there.  There is half an apple tree which can in no way be construed as beneficial to Tabby.  And a whole plethora of shoeboxes and stuff, likewise not intended for human use. 

But what do the little blighters do? 

Did I mention that they like to shred carpet? 

I couldn’t understand where the piles of… um, pile, were coming from; none of the previously damaged areas  seemed to be increasing in size. Finally I thought to check under the wardrobe…  Arrgh!  Not good.

Added to the carnage in her underwear drawer, the carpet was the last straw.  Rats!  Consider yourselves barred!

There aren’t many places left where they haven’t been banned, so it’s the kitchen now.  And the stairs.

We wouldn’t have minded about Tabby’s carpet, it wasn’t that great anyway, but here’s the thing.  We recently installed a high sleeper bed in her room.  It took all day to put together, and you can’t shift it without heavy lifting gear.  The only way we could physically replace her carpet would be if the rats ate the bed too.  Come to think of it, they have made a start…

In my last post I was talking about rats and bones.  Here is the sequel.

I was recently approached in the school playground by a friend.  Who had been saving chicken bones for me.  Or rather, for the rats.

Apparently Tabitha has been busy touting for bones for the rats.  Well, we have chicken every week, and one bone per rat, once a week is ample…

My face must have dropped about a mile as I envisaged everyone we know saving all their bones for us; walking home from school bearing multiple bags of carnage, a mobile ossuary…  Local children would tail me from a safe distance, I would be known as the Bone Lady, and accusations of witchcraft would follow…

My kind and thoughtful friend realised that all was not going to plan, and was swift to reassure me that she had washed the bones…  I hope I contrived to be gracious in refusing this generous offer, but as for Tabitha…

“Taaaabbbbby!!!!”

One of the treats which our girls really enjoy are bones.  In particular, chicken bones.  As it happens all the species of girls within our house enjoy gnawing on bones, but I should clarify that I am in fact talking about the rat variety.

Having divested our chicken bones of the majority of the meat we usually pass a few on to the rats, who show us how it’s really done.  There is a method.  First they polish off any surface shreds.  Then they extract the marrow.  And if they’re really keen they consume the bone too. 

Fascinating as this is, the real reason for this post is to include the photos.  How cute is that?  Like a miniature dog!

I will never forget the first time we gave the rats liver.  Rarely have I seen such ecstatic rodents. 

The big slab of beef liver had been cooked in the microwave, which was one of the vilest tasks to ever fall to my lot.  As it cooked a frothy green scum formed on the surface, and oh, the smell… 

This repellent substance duly sliced into strips, and placed gingerly in the rats’ suspendable food dispenser, I doubtfully offered it to our furry friends, wondering what they had done to merit such unkind treatment…

As previously indicated, the little fur balls were reduced to a feeding frenzy.  There was plenty of liver for all, but they each wanted all of it, and a running battle ensued, with rats snatching tasty morsels from each other, and attempting to cache all the liver for their own personal consumption, in a delayed orgy of covert feasting.  To put it mildly, I was surprised, but the effect on the human girls was more surprising, not to mention constituting a horrifying unintended consequence…

“What is that, Mummy?” was swiftly followed by, “And why have you never cooked any for us?”

To add to the pressure, Mark, who has requested liver unsuccessfully on many occasions, was incensed that he appears in the pecking order somewhere beneath the rats.

Inevitably, I was ultimately forced to bow to public demand, attempting to render liver fit for human consumption, be such a thing possible…

Faced with a plateful of congealing grey revoltingness I rather hoped that the kids might back down.  But no.  Tabitha and her father genuinely liked this gak, and for Phoebe, pay-back time had arrived in spades.  Years of being required to eat vegetables culminated in this; her mother being forced to set an example.   As I choked and retched my way through the wretched concoction there were those who begged me to just leave it, (but only after the photographic evidence had been procured.)  Phoebe on the other hand, enjoyed every moment, and took a great deal of satisfaction in insisting that I consume every morsel.

I had hoped that this would settle the matter for good, but no.  Pressure is beginning to mount to relive the liver experience.  Thanks, rats.

Nb.  I do have the perfect photo to illustrate this post…  not a chance!