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As I was getting ready for bed last night, Coco came to the plate on the patio, and he brought a plaything. I thought it was one of those little snakes, but I was worried that it looked a little bigger than usual. Putting on the kitchen light, I see that it is actually another rat, but more like a baby rat, though well on the way to mature adulthood.
I stepped outside with the trash can, ready to get the pooper-scooper like I do with the caught birds, but as Coco fusses with the baby rat, keeping tabs on it as she eats her food, I see that it is alive and even hear it squeak. This freezes me. I don’t know what to do. I’m worried about the cats getting sick from such game, but I have never stomped a rat to death. Do I try to fling it over the fence?
In the end, I do the weak, Monk thing. I just go back inside and hope for the best, feeling wussy and knowing this is dumb, dumb, dumb.
I stepped outside with the trash can, ready to get the pooper-scooper like I do with the caught birds, but as Coco fusses with the baby rat, keeping tabs on it as she eats her food, I see that it is alive and even hear it squeak. This freezes me. I don’t know what to do. I’m worried about the cats getting sick from such game, but I have never stomped a rat to death. Do I try to fling it over the fence?
In the end, I do the weak, Monk thing. I just go back inside and hope for the best, feeling wussy and knowing this is dumb, dumb, dumb.
