Damn that rat! <br />I could hear it <br />scuffling about <br />in the closet. <br /> <br />He'd been there <br />some time <br />and I'd heard <br />footsteps. <br /> <br />Then there were <br />the phone calls, <br />from a female <br />called, Ratessa <br /> <br />Ratessa - called <br />every day, wanting <br />to speak to my rat. <br />No excuses. <br /> <br />Mostly I'm bad <br />at spotting clues <br />but this was <br />see through. <br /> <br />What to do? <br />I called environmental health. <br />The rat catcher <br />came quickly. <br /> <br />He was a big, burly bloke <br />with dark eyebrows, <br />tattoos and a <br />six pack. <br /> <br />‘It's alright love', <br />he shouted. <br />‘I'll get your rat, <br />you leave this to me.' <br /> <br />I led him in, <br />straight through to the back. <br />He stood, aghast, <br />when he saw my rat <br /> <br />‘I know you' he snapped <br />‘I've seen you <br />at our back door <br />with my Mrs. <br /> <br />My two kids, <br />are the spit of you! <br />Then he dragged <br />my rat outside. <br /> <br />I heard a squeak <br />and then a crack <br />and then <br />a blood curdling splat <br /> <br />I peeped outside, no rat, <br />just a couple of teeth <br />and blood stains <br />on the mat. <br /> <br />I poured myself a drink, <br />discarded wedding rings, <br />and put on a <br />cocktail dress, black, <br /> <br />in mourning, <br />for my late husband - the rat <br />that had finally - <br />been caught.<br /><br />Ruth Walters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rat-3/
