Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh. Sweet baby girl kitty is inside the house with a rat right now. I hate to say it, but I ran outside, shut the door, and am just waiting for her to put it out of its misery. I saw her in the bathroom next to what I thought was a corpse, but as I grabbed a grocery bag and moved in to pick it up, it dragged itself into an empty t.p. roll (PepPurr's previous toy), which made her all kinds of excited. Now I have a quandary. I'm pretty sure the thing is critically injured but there's no way I can bring myself to finish the job, either deliberately or by slow suffocation in a grocery bag at the bottom of a garbage can. I may be a country girl who has held her share of chickens on the chopping block, but that was a long time ago. Hell, even my dad takes his chickens to a professional "renderer" these days.
As I stood in my tiny bathroom and pondered what to do, PepPurr worked the poor creature out of its hiding place and started to fling it dangerously close to my face, causing me to squeal a little girl and go running out of the house, chasing my dog in front of me.
She just came out the window without the rat. Wish me luck on a quick, clean find. I'm going in.
Update: after a frustrating search with a very excited dog trying to prove the ratter in her bloodline, I finally discovered it on the back of the couch right where I sit. At least it looks like it ended without much trauma. Sigh.
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