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Last night Fred caught what I believe to be a juvenile rat and, either as apology for staying out late or just out of a generous nature, he brought it home for us all to enjoy. It did immediately attract excited attention from Angelina and me. However, between the three of us, the rat escaped, into the warren of shelving that includes both bookshelves and an area I use as a pantry. A bit of digging failed to find sign of it, so I was forced to give up the effort (having learned that this sort of thing can lead to me tearing the place apart, with the only result being that the creature sought circles behind me and goes to ground in the newly created mess of things hauled off the shelves). I had hopes that it would have the sense to lay low until morning and then make its escape through the cat door. Failing that, I figured, I have two hunting cats - I really shouldn't have to worry about having a permanent rat presence in the house.
Sure enough, about 3 am I was awakened by the thunder of paws up and down the hallway, punctuated by frantic squeaking - which suddenly stopped. That's that, I thought, and made a mental note to watch where I stepped in the morning.
Come morning, I noted the devastation of the pantry shelf....but was unable to locate a corpse. However, I consoled myself that my Angelina's figure does not reflect her appetite - she is one of the irritating types who can (and does) gobble down whatever she likes, while remaining thin as a rail. So I set to putting the pantry shelf back to rights....and then noticed that Fred was evincing unusual interest in the bookshelf, trying to reach a paw back behind the books. With a sinking heart, I started pulling books out for him - and sure enough, we unearthed the rat, which took off with alacrity. Fred, however, was on the job, and caught it in about 10 seconds. It took me a little longer to catch Fred, but I finally did. I managed to separate him from the rat without injuries to any of us. Since the rat appeared intact (and it's tree-rats we tend to get around here, no plague-carrying baby-eaters), I took it outside and put it in the garden shed, which has lots of little holes something the size of a rat can get out of, but nothing large enough for a cat to get into. I figured it would hole up there for the day - especially since Fred was pacing around outside, meowing and sticking a paw in any hole he could get it into. So I went inside, put everything back on the shelves, and started packing lunch.
After a bit, I noticed Fred was back inside....and circling the footstool with some excitement. Sure enough, there was the rat. This time, I caught it first (and got bitten in thanks). Since it clearly didn't have enough sense to stay in the shed, I tossed it up onto the hill - the one covered in knee-high plant material, ideal for escaping unseen. Especially, I thought, since Fred had resumed his vigil at the garden shed (he is wise to my trick of putting little critters in there to let them escape).
So you can imagine my surprise when I was interrupted in my breakfast preparation by frantic squeaks in the hall. This time I put on my leather rose-pruning gloves, shut the cat door, and again escorted the rat to the hill. I was then able to eat breakfast, disturbed only by Angelina's looks of unjustly-punished innocence, and Fred's small pathetic cries of mourning.
I did let them out again before I left for work. I can only hope the rat managed to make its escape - or that Fred has learned not to bring it home again.
Sure enough, about 3 am I was awakened by the thunder of paws up and down the hallway, punctuated by frantic squeaking - which suddenly stopped. That's that, I thought, and made a mental note to watch where I stepped in the morning.
Come morning, I noted the devastation of the pantry shelf....but was unable to locate a corpse. However, I consoled myself that my Angelina's figure does not reflect her appetite - she is one of the irritating types who can (and does) gobble down whatever she likes, while remaining thin as a rail. So I set to putting the pantry shelf back to rights....and then noticed that Fred was evincing unusual interest in the bookshelf, trying to reach a paw back behind the books. With a sinking heart, I started pulling books out for him - and sure enough, we unearthed the rat, which took off with alacrity. Fred, however, was on the job, and caught it in about 10 seconds. It took me a little longer to catch Fred, but I finally did. I managed to separate him from the rat without injuries to any of us. Since the rat appeared intact (and it's tree-rats we tend to get around here, no plague-carrying baby-eaters), I took it outside and put it in the garden shed, which has lots of little holes something the size of a rat can get out of, but nothing large enough for a cat to get into. I figured it would hole up there for the day - especially since Fred was pacing around outside, meowing and sticking a paw in any hole he could get it into. So I went inside, put everything back on the shelves, and started packing lunch.
After a bit, I noticed Fred was back inside....and circling the footstool with some excitement. Sure enough, there was the rat. This time, I caught it first (and got bitten in thanks). Since it clearly didn't have enough sense to stay in the shed, I tossed it up onto the hill - the one covered in knee-high plant material, ideal for escaping unseen. Especially, I thought, since Fred had resumed his vigil at the garden shed (he is wise to my trick of putting little critters in there to let them escape).
So you can imagine my surprise when I was interrupted in my breakfast preparation by frantic squeaks in the hall. This time I put on my leather rose-pruning gloves, shut the cat door, and again escorted the rat to the hill. I was then able to eat breakfast, disturbed only by Angelina's looks of unjustly-punished innocence, and Fred's small pathetic cries of mourning.
I did let them out again before I left for work. I can only hope the rat managed to make its escape - or that Fred has learned not to bring it home again.
