Georgio came by yesterday to collect his rat boxes. He opened them up.
Two hadn’t been touched. The other contained half eaten blocks of poisoned rat bait, looking for all the world like leftover candy floss. Rattus had filled his boots.
“This is great!” cried Georgio, excitedly. “It means you probably only had one, and he’s gone away and died somewhere, yes?”
I never know whether to agree, so I just said yes. Georgio was happy.
“And you didn’t have any bird feeders out no?”
“No. We even asked the neighbours.”
“Fine, fine.”
With that he took the boxes to his van and gave me his business card.
“10% off next time,” he said. I said thanks. I also hope there won’t be a next time.
So ended the short life of Rattus, sneaking away with poisoned candy floss in his belly. Poor Rattus.
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