Dolphin Address 07
April 1th 2006
I was minding my own business, looking up some weird words in my dictionary, actually is was my beloved Thesaurus. I was engrossed in multitudes of synonyms when something moved in the far corner of my eye. That was such a nice surprise, no not a mouse, much larger, but it did not look like a rat at all. It was big fluffy round and it sat very still. When I averted my eyes for a blink and looked again it was gone. It sat just around a back corner of my heater, its tail carelessly meandering in sight. That was a rats tail for sure, it was naked with glary bristles sticking out and something was moving over it.
What I do? This is not nice, this is rats. Sure to get rid of. Killing was out. Fast thinking now. Give him a good scare, no, they cope with scare, I got to scare and hurt it, hurt it pretty bad, so it will never ever wanna come back here. This is not nice, is necessary, besides cornered rats are bound to attack and I don’t like the idea of rats hanging out here, like when I’m sleeping. Never seen one here before. I looked around for something pretty heavy, no not that computer, yes, part of a log of Cape Dawson that I use for foot support. I picked it up, could be three kilo, looks a lot less, but it’s specific weight is about 1,15. Its massively dense wood, demands special tools, looks black with a very dark blue hue, inside wood is black-blue to purple, with orange and yellow fields and an astonishing ‘flashlight’, some places green with very thin red veins.
Meanwhile the rat could have gracefully retreated, but it had not. I felt my hand commanded by my grandfather, Jan Ploeg, he was a crofter with many other trades and true trough-through thorough knowledge of nature around him. He would never tolerate a rat in his house. I let go of the chunk of Cape Dawson. An instant of weird electric silence.
The block of the wood still sounded when it was torn by a high indignant scream and an acknowledgement of receipt. The rat rocked and rolled belly over like a cowboy gunfighter under fire to the nearest cover and disappeared through a hole, now filled with gravel.
I feel so strangely un-guilty. Very slow and carefully I accept my modest victory. That one won’t come back and if they’re as smart as they say they are smart, they’ll pass it on and for a century to come the entirety of Fanore is pre-blocked for rats.
But then again I think the dolphin comes to me too and I join fins with her, could I have made friends with this rat, would it have liked a pint of Guinness? I feel my act gaining 6 inches in depth. That you do not pour into the skull of your slain enemy. Rather drink it myself.
Outside six shocked rats are licking the wounded scout. One frisks its silver whiskers and whispers: ‘That bad, hey?’
A distant groan and then a shiver: ‘He’s an animal.’
Jan Ploeg, Research and Development Centre, April 1st 2006
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