Sydney was making a ruckus out on the patio, so I went to see what her problem was. Oh. A mouse.

Still quivering, but it was in no condition to escape. Made my stomach lurch to see it. Don’t look at the photos if you’re squeamish. (more . . .)

Hobbes the cat, sometime in 2002

Sydney killed another rat early Thursday morning. Or maybe the killer was some other cat; the rat was left in the middle of the lawn, and Sydney usually dumps her presents at the back steps.

I found the rat Thursday afternoon. I’ll leave it for the possum, I thought.

The rat was still there Friday. Guess the possum wants it a little riper, I thought.

Saturday the rat started to stink. I made sure not to open the bedroom window, which opens to the lawn. Sitting on the patio wasn’t too bad, depending which way the breeze blew. There were probably maggots, but I wasn’t going to check. Tomorrow, I thought, tomorrow I’ll have to bury it.

Early Sunday morning I woke to the smell of rat, then went back to sleep. After my husband and I were both awake, I offered to toss a coin for the privilege of burying the rat. Lucky me! He had a brand-new shovel he wanted to try out.

He came back in a few minutes later. “The rat wasn’t there.”

Yum. Guess that possum was letting it age to perfection.

Sorry, no photos this time.

What’s he carrying?

A leafblower!

Can’t you make him shut it up?

Well, if you’ll rub my belly . . .