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A couple of days ago I opened the door after work and thought, "Hmmmm. Smells like something died." Not like over-ripe fruit or liquefying potatoes, but like death. So I went to the place where I usually find the dead things, under the dishwasher. That's where I keep the loaded rat trap, so that Katy and Buster don't end up having to have their beezers amputated. The trap? She was missing. Not there. Le trap est disparu. So I looked around for it, because rat traps don't just walk themselves out from under the dishwasher. It was in the Scary Room, that spare bedroom that houses my clothes dryer and several centuries worth of crap that I should just throw away. There, on the floor. Snapped. But there was no rat carcass hanging out.
This could mean only one thing. If you think that one thing is that a dog or cat was trying to get to the peanut butter-covered Gummy bear, then you are wrong again (I assume it's not unusual for the rest of you, either).
The one thing that was possible is that an actual rodent was lured into the jaws of death by the gooey treat, the trap snapped on his neck and killed him instantaneously, and the recoil sent the trap a few inches back out into the kitchen. Once the trap, now full of delicious ratty goodness, was out in the kitchen, the possibilities are endless. However, if a cat had found this unexpected bounty, he or she (more likely she, since he is mostly interested in sleeping since he became a pirate) would more likely have taken it outside where a dog couldn't steal it away. But it wasn't outside, it was in the Scary Room. With no hangy-outy parts. Only one way to confirm my suspicions -- pick up the trap.
Yup. A rat was caught in the trap. Yup. Someone had eaten the available bits of the rat. Meaning that the rat's head was the only part left in the trap.
I suspect Buster, as he had taken the rat in the trap last time, but only got as far as bathing it with his tongue until we took it away from him (and gave it to a cat, because we're just sick that way. Circle of life.) and it was inside, not outside.
So I released the rat's head back into the wild (trash).
I am hoping that somehow for the SuperBowl halftime show, someone has managed to put together some kind of extravaganza of offensive caricatures of Mohammed, maybe including a marching band making outlines of Mohammed kissing a goat. Because I don't ever particularly go out of my way to offend anyone who is reasonable and thoughtful and respectful, but I don't really give a rat's ass (clearly) about offending the insane. I also went out and bought delicious flaky breakfast pastries, blue cheese, pickled herring, and as much French stuff as I could fit into my shopping cart. Thank dog that those people all make good vodka and wine, because that means that I've been supporting them for decades! Someone from the German press said it best: Freedom of the press includes freedom to be blasphemous. I have an idea -- let's burn down a Middle Eastern embassy every time a political cartoon that is offensive to the West is printed in a Middle Eastern newspaper! Bat shit crazy.
Right now Mick Jagger is doing his dork-spazz dance and reminding us how we'll never be cool enough to get away with it.
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