This did not happen to me, it was another blogger, who may sound very similar to me, but is not me.

On Christmas Eve, a beautiful, and talented blogger (who was not me) was racing around frantically trying to do all things festive. Her preparations had been delayed due to a nasty bout of swine flu, so she was left with only two days to do everything. However, help was at hand in the form of her cat, who, seeing her plight, decided he could help with the menu. But what to contribute? Obviously the usual catty fare of mice and shrews would not do, because although the blogger loved to find them on the doorstep (milk, newspaper, dead shrew – a delightful way to start the day), they would provide meagre fare for Christmas dinner. No, he knew he had to go for big game.

And so it was, he arrived home with his catch – still alive, to prove it was fresh and not just some old thing he’d found lying around – which he deposited on the kitchen floor. Realising it was about to head straight back outside, he ‘despatched’ it, quickly and efficiently. What was it you ask? A rat!

The blogger (who was not me) would like to say she reacted coolly and calmly, but she would be lying. She did, in fact, jump up and down on the spot, waving her hands and screaming something like ‘aargh, uurgh, aargh’. If she had only had the presence of mind to jump on a chair while screaming and jumping and waving, she would have borne a remarkable resemblance to a 1950s cartoon woman when confronted by a rodent.

After several minutes during which the blogger screamed, the cat looked smug, and the rat looked, well, dead, the blogger’s son managed to crawl out of bed and stroll downstairs to enquire why his mother was screaming hysterically. (Was she being murdered? Had the house caught fire? Had the shrouded ghosts of residents past materialised in the kitchen to condemn her criticism of their appalling wallpaper choices?) The following conversation ensued:

Blogger: Uurgh, aaargh.

Son: It’s a rat

Blogger: Aaargh, uuurgh, aaargh

Son: Yes, cats do that

Blogger: Uurgh, aaargh uurgh aargh

Son: No, I can’t dispose of the body, I’m a vegetarian

Eventually, the blogger (who was not me) calmed down enough to make funeral arrangements, and it was only then that she took a proper look at the deceased and noticed something a little alarming. Wild rats look like this, but this poor, dead pile of fur looked more like this. And so, this blogger (still not me) spent Christmas alternating between the thoughts, ‘it must have been wild, but they mate for life – what if there’s a Mrs Rat and 15 babies, how are they coping?’, and ‘it was someone’s pet – what if they’re heartbroken? what if they find out!?’.

So that’s the sorry tale. My condolences to anyone who lost a pet rat on Christmas Eve, but don’t blame my cat or me, we had absolutely nothing to do with it. It was some other blogger and some other cat.

And no, I, I mean, this other blogger didn’t notice if the Death of Rats appeared. I, I mean this other blogger did ask the cat, but he just looked inscrutable and refused to comment.

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