Margot and Barbara have murdered three shrews today. So far. Last night, coming home late on the trusty bike, I turned the corner into our lane to have the bike light pick up Margot torturing another shrew in the middle of the road. Squeak...squeak...KABOOM...squeak...THWACK. That finished, delightfully, with her bringing it in, and me finishing it off with a file of bank statements. Our bin is knee-deep in deceased shrewage. Our conservatory is a charnel house, a rodent Dachau.
No wonder I have weird dreams.
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2 comments:
I love the idea that your bank statements are so hefty, they can be used to club animals to death. T
Do you think you could post all those dead mice/moles/whatevers to Australia. My chooks love them and you'd get countless recyclin points..
PS. I wouldn't mind ya posting those two cats as well.
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