They say in London, you're never more than 15 feet from a rat*. I can verify that I was even closer this morning. The adrenaline is still pumping.
I was working out in the garden this morning, trimming the restio and cleaning out the pond, when I heard a startled squawking coming from the dogleg walk by our backdoor. I thought Fancy had a baby bird, and I was about to rescue the little thing, when I realised that she had a rat cornered. My heart leaped into my throat and I retreated into a corner of the yard. After all, she's the cat and I didn't want to get in her way.
The rat made a desperate lunge for it, and managed to get past Fancy and ran toward me. And I did scream like a baby.
I'm afraid that the rat got away. The cats are still looking for the rat, but I'm afraid their murderous aspirations are not met by their skill.
Faster pussycats, kill, kill!
________
*Trust me, it was no mouse. It was a rat.
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