I was hanging up washing when my boyfriend kissed me on the shoulder. I jumped a mile in the air...I thought he was an amorous rodent

– Natasha Radmehr on unwanted guests

I’ve lived in some pretty rough places but it wasn’t until I bought my dream home that I found myself flat-sharing with rats.

It began one night late last year when I was drifting off to sleep.

Suddenly, I was wide awake, I had heard a faint but unmistakable scratching noise from my bedroom ceiling.

I would have tried to blame my neighbours, but live on the top floor, so didn’t have that option.

Then, just when I’d managed to convince myself my imagination was playing tricks on me, I heard it again - the unmistakable sound of a creature, scampering, right above me. Unless, it was a spider on steroids, it had to be rat.

The following week, while at work, I received a less-thangushing message from my boyfriend.

We’d had pasta for dinner the night before and he’d left some in the pan, but it had vanished.

“You knew that was my lunch,” he huffily texted. “I can’t believe you ate it.” I hadn’t eaten it. In a panic, I contacted my factor and they said they’d check it out.

The timing was terrible, though – it was the week before Christmas and they were about to close the office for a fortnight, so nobody came.

I turned over my flat, frantically searching for any cracks or holes that an unwanted furry visitor could squeeze through. I disinfected every surface. Drawers were emptied, cupboards upturned, but there were no obvious signs of hairy visitors.

We left poison out and it lay untouched.

Meanwhile, the noises got louder and more frequent.

I heard them scrabbling behind my living room walls and clawing beneath the floorboards.

It sounded like they were trying to gnaw their way into my home.

I was constantly on high alert, muting the TV the second I heard them and jolting awake in the middle of the night with the fear they’d chomp through the ceiling and land on my head.

One time I was hanging up washing and my boyfriend kissed me on the shoulder, only for me to scream and leap out his way, mistaking him for an amorous rat.

As the clock struck midnight on Hogmanay, we heard a spoon clatter in the kitchen – courtesy of one of our unwelcome guests – and decided enough was enough. It was time to get some old-school rat traps.

We set them under the kitchen sink, baited with peanut butter. The next night we heard a loud snap – we’d caught a huge rat. The next day we caught another.

Finally, we found where they’d been coming from.

There was a small gap in the flooring behind my washing machine which we covered with a tile.

That might have stopped them entering my home, but they’re still scurrying between the walls of the building and driving me demented.

Pest control eventually examined the loft, but couldn’t find signs of the rats nesting there.

I live in Finnieston in Glasgow and they say the demoliton of the Western Infirmary is forcing the rats to relocate.

I really don’t care where they go – as long as it’s not inside my walls.

They’re still trying to figure out where they’re coming from and they may have to cut holes in the walls of my just-decorated home.

That’s bad enough but even when you can’t hear them, you feel them.

And they’re still there.