Just effected the great rat recovery part two. Last night Son was in tears: the rats had vanished. We searched the house but they were nowhere to be found and as the french windows had been open, we suspected the worst...poor old Son had a late night and Bach Rescue Remedy. Then today, when I was sat at the kitchen table 'writing my dissertation' (drinking coffee and daydreaming about being Joanna Trollope) I heard a suspicious scuttling and saw a flash of Rattus, the pesky little rodent. After school Son had a proper hunt and we found pesky Rattus and fat-bottomed Nameless had made a little den inside the sofa bed, in the underneath bit where we keep the bedding.
Would it be wrong to make Son pay for the cost of two ruined pillows, pillowcases and kingsize duvet cover? I feel the trauma of believing his ratty little daughters were dead was probably punishment enough.
What else? Hubby now has a job, sort of. At least our days of behaving like a couple of OAPs are over - no more endless lattes in Costa, and I fear my hairless Hugh FW may soon be replaced by a small angry soldier. Oh well, it couldn't carry on, all those coffees didn't come cheap and we've run out of money now, anyway.
Right, need to get kingsize quilt of the line before the thunder starts (damn that pesky gulf stream and those even peskier rats). Take care xxx