Winnie the rat slayer or why I love this bitch.

Did I tell you about the rat?

We came home from San Francisco to a quiet house. Well, sort of. I"d heard banging in the closet off the stairs to the basement and when I investigated I noted that whatever it was, it was active and had thrown a taped box of mouse poison to the floor. I should have taken this as an omen, but one can never be sure and we did have a ghost here when we moved into the house.

The old ghost stayed on the stairs up to the second floor though- and he was very well mannered, never threw a thing.

So I instructed John to close and lock the door to the basement.

That didn't take.

The night we arrived back I was a bit wonkey. I went to bed and awoke to Mickey the dog diabetic's tic tak-ing around the house. He was dumping urine. It happens sometimes and the poor beastie can't help it. Aside from his embarrassment, there is a problem with the urine. It's sugar and it hardens to a lovely gloss but as there's not enough of it to coat the entire floor and seal it, it's best to scrub it up. Which I did.

Mick and Winnie went to sleep and I fell over sideways on the couch and passed out.

I woke up. Winnie was drawn up stiff as a statue on the little couch. As I watched she launched herself into space, landed in the dinning room and flashed behind the table.

I heard THUNK, THUNK.

Then an animal foot nicked my field of vision, twitched and lay still.

Winnie came dancing into the room.

I have learned to be very specific with John. Shrill screams move him not, loud cries of pain pass him by, shrieks are beyond his experience therefore he hears them not. You get the picture.

I yelled (very, very very loudly) JOHN  COME  DOWN  HERE.  I   NEED  YOU !!!!!!

Reluctant footsteps later, John arrived and said. "What an unfortunate awakening."

He wandered over to the prone body, eyed it and went upstairs. Then he came downstairs with equipment with which to dispose the corpse.

He looked at the corpse again and walked to the desk. He pulled out a camera and brought it to the spot. He almost took a picture when he thought the better of it. He headed for the desk, rummaged around and hove to again. This time he had a camera and a ruler. He dropped the ruler next to the rat and then he took several pictures.

He checked the pictures, nodded with satisfaction and disposed of the rat corpse. Then he went back to bed.

I thought he was mad.

The next day Barney the exterminator arrived. He discoursed widely on the topic of rats. He doubted we'd had one and was disappointed when there was no dead rodent body on offer.

I went to the desk and pulled out the camera. With some difficulty I located the pictures.

"That's a rat allright," he was unwontedly cheerful. "What a clever man you husband is. This is just what I needed."

I may someday forgive the male race and only take comfort in the fact that the rat was male and Winnie the valiant bitch killed it.