Rats!

I think the Chewbacca costume was bad enough, don't you?

 

jpeg?

 

Didn't you find the husks got stuck in your nose?

 

You're all cunts, you know that!?!

 

ah. Get a bit warm in there, did it?

No, I still think the jester costume is more likely to bring about
coronary failure.

 

The suit itself isn't as bad as you'd imagine, but the gloves do get a
tad sweaty, and the "head" is no place to be if you're claustrophobic.

Well, I wouldn't want to be the cause of your premature termination, so
out of the kindness of my heart I've decided not to try that costume.

 

And most cats probably wouldn't be that interested in eating a dead rat
anyway - certainly not if it's gone cold and stiff.

All the cats I've known have been quite happy to kill rats but none of
them ate them afterwards. Mice make a nice snack though[1]..

Phil.

[1] And the sooner that ours catch the mouse that the male brought into
the utility room and then released alive the happier I'll be. Our
Staffie-cross[1] keeps trying to dig her way through the cupboards to get
to it..

[2] Rescued, probably previously kept as a ratter.

 

Can't be any worse than prawn in his archery getup.

 

Well up to your usual standard..

Cheryls dad (the British Rail Bridges and Works Supervisor for Devon
and Cornwall) used to carry two things in the back of his truck (along
with his tools of course):

1. A spade and sack (horse droppings for the collecting of[1]).
2. A large tarpaulin and ropes (roadkill for the collecting of).

Being an enterprising chap who could never look a gift deer in the
mouth (unlike your chappie) he used to collect all sorts of roadkill
for later consumption. His rounds used to take him into all sorts of
out-of-the-way places (and along the rail tracks) and he could pretty
much pick and choose the ones he wanted.

Top bloke by all accounts. I just wish that I'd met him (he died of
stomach cancer in 1977).

I met his brother (a fisherman in Cornwall) who was due to give Cheryl
away at our wedding (but couldn't because of ill health). Again a top
bloke with a lot of common sense.

Phil.

[1] Keen gardener. Couldn't bear to think of all that proto-fertiliser
just lying around being wasted[2]. His route took him across Dart/Exmoor
as well as other equally remote bits of Devon and Cornwall.

[2] It extends to other stuff as well - our bed is made from reclaimed
oak timber from the old Dawlish station footbridge that he recovered
from the 'to be burnt' pile, had cleaned up and his carpenter friend
made into a bed. Held together with coach-bolts and BR cast-iron
angle-brackets..

 

I've helped an Italian bloke clean the end-results of cutting a lamb in
half with his Ducati out of said Ducatis fairing and engine.. And
straightened his fairing mounts (fairing wasn't bolted directly to the
frame like most I've seen - it was mounted on metal rods that had bent
considerably but didn't mind being straightened..)

He stayed on. Just gripped the bars tightly and closed his eyes just
before impact. When they rode up to the coffee van[1] where we were the
guy got off, covered in blood and guts, and spent the next 30 minutes
shaking uncontrollably..

Phil.

[1] Einan Donan castle, carpark thereof.

 

Make sure it's not an Al-Quaeda rat. I believe that terrorist actions
are not covered.

Phil

 

Depends how they get into the house. In my case it's because our male
cat brings them in and releases them to ensure he has amusement on a
rainy day..

Phil

 

Ready-salted flavour?

 

Oh, absolutely.

 

Some horses are quite single-minded. Last place I lived in there was a
steel-section garage round the back of the house and a half-acre field
which contained a horse. Said horse had an itchy arse and developed the
habit of scratching it against the garage walls, to such an extent it
became progressively harder to open the up-and-over door every time I
needed in there as Nelly the horse had succeeded in distorting the
garage structure.

 

Eilean.

Tsk.

 

I bought a rat trap in an effort to terminate rats, or so I thought
that were raiding feed from an outside workshop, managed to catch a
rook.

 

Saw something on t'box this morning about cunts in towns in the
W.Midlands setting rat traps on ledges to kill peregrine falcons.
Turns out to be pigeon fanciers.

 

From what I could hear, it was the ledges the falcons were nesting on,
so unlikely to be set for the frequent shitting fliers.

 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/25191903@N05/3003836016/

I'm not making it up.