Rats Aren’t Mean

Context is key, and rats are scary. Michael was just allowed to get a rat, because he’s the youngest and Mum and Dad are super soft on him all the time. I’m not allowed to go out on Saturday night to Hurricane, even though I’ve SAID that it’s not one of those gross clubs where people are drinking loads and just kissing the whole time, but the parents just won’t budge. It’s a club for teenagers! I’m fifteen, I know what I’m doing!

But Michael gets a rat, of course. He’d better keep that thing in his room, and I’m serious.

I’m doing a project for history right now on the black plague, and every time I add a bit of information I feel a strong urge to look up if there are any people who can take care of the pest control near Berwick. I need someone who can come on short notice and take care of a very dangerous animal. It’d be an easy job; the thing is mostly in a cage when Michael isn’t holding it, or carrying it around in his hoodie with its disgusting tail hanging out. He says it’s cute. I say that there are pest controllers who might think otherwise.

Once this project is finished, I’m calling a family conference, under the guise that I’m giving an oral presentation (I’m not) and I need to practice. Then I’m going to hit them with all the grisly details, how the victims died, how many, and what caused it. Oh right…it was rats. Thus, we have what may be the beginning of pest controllers worldwide, as they realised that these little furry monsters are the enemy of life itself.

So yeah, at least that was a positive. Maybe I’ll finish with that. “So while a significant portion of the world’s population was wiped out, your local Mornington pest control team now exist to help you out with similar problems. Maybe even ones in your own home. Right now, Mum and Dad. RIGHT. NOW.”