I can hear him now. He’s in the cupboard, gnawing on something. I suspect it is a human head, he looks the menacing sort. I caught my first glimpse of him last week as he boldly scurried across the length of the office, his little claws click-clacking off the marble floor. He was too quick and I was too startled to ascertain whether it was a mouse or a rat. If it was a mouse, I’m impressed; he was hefty. If it was a rat, which I do suspect that was it, then I have a problem.
The proof is in the poo-ding.
I queried a colleague about this rodent. Does he know we have rats? Should we do something to get rid of it? Is there someone we can call? These, apparently, are all very silly questions. Of course everyone knows we have rats. Pfft. No big deal. Was there anything else?
So it appears I have inadvertently acquired a roommate for my days in the office. I guess I should give him a name. Something unassuming and friendly, like Roger, or Terwilliger. Something that is silly enough to make me forget that rats carry numerous awful diseases and at any given moment he could explode out of the cupboard with super-rat strength and give my ankle a right good nip.
Terwilliger it is.
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