Some of you may be really upset with me for this. 

Other’s may feel that uncomfortable tug of war between revulsion and curious fascination.

Whatever your reaction, I doubt it will change my behavior or resolve much. I can’t really let it.  As an urban city-dweller, I find I must keep dispatching rats whenever and wherever they try to establish a beach-head anywhere near my house. It’s unfortunate that they have become such an inescapable part of the urban neighborhood I live in.  It’s unfortunate that keeping them from establishing themselves too comfortably in a world of neighbor’s outdoor pet-food bowls and food scraps carelessly tossed into recycle bins, and my own vegetable plots is at the very least a part-time job.  I take this particular work seriously.  I’ve seen how quickly rats can reproduce and how quickly a few nuisance rats can become a monstrous, overpopulated health-hazard, chewing their way into your house, your wiring . . . I think you get the picture. 

The fenceline along the alley of my imagination occasionally seems more an elevated rodent highway than a visual barrier.  And what’s up with all you fat, lazy neighbor cats anyway?  Nothing better to do than poop in the flower beds and wait for that next “POP” and “PEEL” sound as a can of “Prissy Cat” is opened for your highnesses?  What exactly do ya’ll think we keep you on the payroll for, anyway?

I got that sickening feeling again the other day when I heard scurrying footfalls and other rat noises in the attic area above my ground floor bathroom as I was showering.  I knew that I had to act immediately.

We have been blessedly rat-free here since mid-summer of last year.  But now it’s spring and those pesky rats, obviously have been gettin’ frisky and mulitplying like, well . . . rats.  As they multiply, they head out looking for new horizons and newer, bigger homes.  My response?  NIMBY!!!  (Not In My Back Yard)

This morning was the second morning in a row that one of my baited traps was sprung.  Yesterday’s catch was a large, light colored female.

Today, eerily, three juveniles (above) . . . all dispatched with one sudden “SNAP!”

Now I’ll admit, I’d never heard of a three-fer before, nor managed even to pull off a two-fer.   I grew up the son of a field zoologist, in the field, and started trapping with my dad at a very young age.  But I never saw anything quite like this.  So you can imagine my  fascinated surprise.  Yikes!

Upon finding the rodent crime-scene above, I grabbed a camera, spent a few minutes photographing the newly departed and then placed them carefully upon the fence top as the daily lunch special for my friends, the crows.

Welcome to The Laughing Crow:

As you already know if you’ve been following along here for long, I’m a big believer in the notion of re-purposing.

I sentence many of my cutworms and slugs to Alcatraz.  And when it comes to recycling rats and mice, I believe that the neighborhood janitorial crew and its muscle, the crows should have a go at them rather than the bacteria and maggots in some distant landfill.

I’m here to tell you that when you whip up these tempting recipes as I do, with only the freshest of locally grown ingredients (see above), and further, when you enhance these dishes with a truly stylin’ presentation, well, it won’t take long for word to get out.  That Corvus grapevine works amazingly fast. 

My first customer of the day had arrived and made his selection within a mere five minutes of opening the doors and putting the featured dish on the “Specials Board”, aka, Roger’s fence.  I found it interesting psychologically that this crow flew in on the right side of the fence section and then walked gingerly along the plank, brusquely stepping over the first rat-let he came to, glancing quickly at the third and then decisively selecting the middle one.  Before I could even say Rattatouille’, he was off to sample his meal in a tree.  Now seriously, what do you suppose his selection criteria were?