An Unwelcome Festive Visitor

A large rat and some mistletoe… we’ll let Chris explain…

actually feed himself, and our local rodent population has never been happy about it. But most do need feeding.

This run-up to Christmas has already been a bit of a trial, due mainly to the efforts of the aforementioned Charlie and one other who shall remain nameless (Simba Johnson). These two feline fiends have been the perpetrators of a couple of unwelcome incidents.

“Incident” is very much the word when talking about one-eyed Charlie. Although careless in maintaining the correct number of eyes,

Charlie is always very careful not to forget to reward his cat-sitter at Christmas.

This year, as an early present, he gave me a giant rat. In the spirit of Christmas though, he decided to have mercy on the rat. So I arrived at Charlie’s house, said my hellos and, noting Charlie was happily munching away at his biscuit bowl, headed to the cupboard to fetch his sachets, chatting away all the time, telling Charlie what a marvellous fellow he was…

As I arrived back at his bowls I stopped dead. There, regarding me curiously while munching biscuits, was not Charlie, but the biggest rat I have ever seen! I’d just spent the last two minutes

There in Charlie’s bowl was the biggest rat I have ever seen!

complimenting a rat.

With a speed not normally associated with a cat-sitter, I grabbed the washing up bowl from the sink and plopped it down to completely cover Roland, biscuits and all (all rats are called Roland). Now all I needed to do was somehow transport him into the garden and set him free. Simple.

One mauling later, I realised it probably wasn’t as simple as I thought, but at least Roland can make his way home for Christmas. Someone else’s home, hopefully.

As if this wasn’t enough, the very next day, displaying no festive goodwill whatsoever, Simba Johnson tried to kill me. I’d been at Simba’s house the previous day and all was well, so I really didn’t expect him to have booby-trapped the hallway overnight. I strode through the front door, failed to spot Simba’s tripwire – a length of fairy lights he’d dragged across the carpet – and ended up flat on my face. Rolling onto my back I looked up to see mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, quickly obscured by a big, fluffy head.

“Don’t you dare!” I muttered, just before he slobbered all over my face. Why is it that the friendliest cats always have the worst breath?

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