Before settling in our lovely lakeside cottage near Talladega, Alabama (Ricky Bobby!) Her Majesty, Queen Teresa and I resided in a nice little split-level over in Dallas, Georgia, a “bedroom community,” just West of Hotlanta. The house was notched into a hillside, with the basement/garage actually being at ground/street level. Of course like any real American, I used the garage for storing ”stuff,” as opposed to actually parking a vehicle inside it—but I digress. This was the venue for the incident known as, the cat and the rats.
One night, just as I was dozing off, I heard the most gawd awful ruckus down in the basement. It sounded a lot like a water buffalo birthing farm equipment. Hearing the noise through the earplugs she wears while sleeping, Her Majesty, rolled over and gently urged me to, “Get your fat fundament OUT of this bed, get DOWN there and see what the HELL is going on!”
Upon investigating, I saw that a bunch of humungous wharf rats had Maggie, one of Her Majesty’s three cats, cornered. Now I’m not much of a cat guy and Maggie ain’t all that bright to begin with. She only has two functional brain cells, one of which is usually on vacation, home sick, or just plain doesn’t show up for work. So, my first instinct was to go ahead and allow Darwin to determine the outcome of this particular confrontation.
Upon further reflection however, I concluded that as entertaining as that might be, if that worthless cat should come to harm, you-know-who would end up shouldering the blame. This in turn, would result in a severe degradation of the highly coveted, Domestic Tranquility. I wanted no part of that.
So, I hied myself upstairs and secured my Red-Ryder-Range-Model-Combat-Action-Carbine-With-the-Compass-In-The-Stock, a Christmas gift from Her Majesty and sallied forth to do battle, rescue the lovely Miss Maggie and save the day…or at least what was left of a decent night’s sleep.
I came back downstairs and after a brief firefight, I managed to whack 4 of them critters, one of them, right between the running lights. But alas, the others got away. And Maggie? she just looked balefully at me and waddled off, lost in her own little world.
The moral of the story? A Hillary Clinton pinup properly placed down in the basement would have served as a great rat repellant and precluded this interruption in my beauty rest. Just sayin.
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May I suggest complimentary & repellent pic of the unelected “Guv” of New York?
Good story, thanks for the chuckle.
The recent photo of Satanic Joe Biden, all red and black, would be good to add to the basement, too. The rats would stop to worship their leader, and the cat could easily escape. Of course, you might also be opening a channel for evil spirits to enter your home with a picture like that. Personally, I prefer a .17 rifle for rats with four legs.
I wonder what a pinup of Hillary might do to my two puppies? They already charge vermin.
Colonel
Your suggestion works except now the furnace and air conditioning workers refuse to work in the basement, something about hostile work environment and extra combat pay.
OK CJ…You win the comments on this thread.
Regards,
Mike
Mike, you guys need to look for a young, lean and hungry cat–a shelter rescue, not a pampered princess, one that’s had to work for some meals. Not to replace Miss Maggie, but rather to complement her.