This blog is somewhat off topic. But for my own amusement, wanted to tell the story of the trauma of the last week!
Six months ago we got Sneezy and Waffle, two cute little kittens to give our 11 year old boy Joe some company. We got Burmese, because they’re cuddly and affectionate, the ‘dog cats’. All they do is sleep.
It started with sticks – lots of little sticks brought in as presents and dropped at our feet. Sweet, they really are like dogs.
Then Robins. Our lovely friendly garden Robin was paraded with much pride, dead. Upsetting. A second Robin captured alive while we had friends for lunch. Taken to the park in a box and set free.
Mice next. First one brought to my home office and presented to me dead on my keyboard. Plastic bag. Bin. Gulp.
Second one alive, running round my office. Sitting up, begging for its life like something out of a Disney film. Being flicked by the cats to make it run around for entertainment. Small box, gently deposited in the bushes in the next road.
Third, next night, dead on our bed at 3am. Something in the way the cats moved on the bed made me realise what it was. Hubby didn’t believe me. Anyway I’ve done my bit, it’s his turn. Wrapped in toilet paper chucked out of the bathroom window.
Fourth, next night, semi alive, on bed, 4am. Hubby’s turn again. Toilet paper, window. Found it on the drive in the morning dead. Toilet paper still stuck on garage roof. Classy!
Then a delightfully uneventful few days while I breathe a sigh of relief. Oh no, of course the fleas. Do they count? I had 23 bites. Had to spray everything in the house and hoover every day for a week. Who’s stupid idea was this cat thing anyway. Oh, mine. Damn.
Two days ago, Lots of lovely birdsong filtres into my office which overlooks the garden. Today one seems bit louder than normal. Gosh that’s loud thinks me, I wonder what that one is, it must be near.
About an hour later, walk past son’s bedroom to see Sneezy transfixed looking under wardrobe. Heart sinks. A torch reveals a tiny duckling, he must have brought in. That’s what the loud tweet was.
To cut a very long story short, Google search says don’t touch it, get someone in, or Ducky Mum will disown it. Southwark Pest Control, very concerned, very helpful. Give me RSPCA, also very serious, concerned. Advice is – leave it alone, they are on their way. I spend the afternoon listening to plaintive cheeps of duckling.
Cats wait at the bedroom door hopefully. 
5pm RSPCA call to say they can’t come after all. Suggest I take it back to the park, which our house backs on to, (and from whence surely ducky has been so cruelly snatched!) and look for its Mum. Out comes the robin/mouse box.
Wander like a prat round the park, showing it to little kids in case people think I have actually knicked it. No ducklings in sight. Find a Park Ranger, no ducklings in the area at the moment. They suggest I call the Dulwich Park Swan volunteers. So take it home and call them. They say don’t under any circumstances let it loose, give it some bread and lettuce, no water. (this is helpful, it may happen to you!) It needs antibiotics because Sneezy may have bitten it. Hubby suggests a seagull grabbed it (which we saw once in St James’s Park) and dropped it and Sneezy actually saved its life! I ponder how you give a 2 inch ducking antibiotics.
Very nice, also very serious, swan lady comes round hot foot with special ducky box and promises it will be very happy. I donate £20 to the swan sanctuary after she’s gone, embarrassed at the fuss. 10 minutes later, 11 year old comes home, he’s gutted he missed the fun.
Next day, all well, charming interlude forgotten. Good meeting with a man from the Technology Strategy Board. I come home to see some strange poo on my upstairs hall carpet. Poo Wiki suggests it is either a rat or a squirrel. Surely the cats couldn’t get either through the cat flap which is chipped, so only they can get through? They are asleep on my bed. All doors are locked, there is no other way in. I relax and think it must be some sort of seed they’ve brought in. Clearly in denial.
Hubby at work. Me & Joe, aged 11 watching TV, suddenly hear a big kerfuffle upstairs. Oh god. Sneezy and Waffle in my bedroom transfixed. Is it a rat or a squirrel or something else? Someone’s pet Ferret or something? Hubby at work. I envisage rats leaping for my son’s throat like they do in films, so we decide to wait for Dad to come home. We both go to wait for Dad at the station, too scared to be at home ‘with creature’. Cats wait patiently by the bed.
Emboldened now he is back, we get out the necessary implements: robin/mouse/duck box, tennis racket to squash it under, baseball bat to splat it., blanket to throw on it. Hubby actually suggested getting our new heavy duty Dyson out and chasing it around to suck it half in, then putting it in the box! The thought of Dad chasing this thing with a hoover and then it stuck on the end of the hoover has us all in stitches! I recall with a strange feeling my blog of last week comparing emerging technology regulation and the Whack a Rat fairground game. I hadn’t realised how it might be re-enacted in real life!
Anyway – if you are still here, click on the link to the video below which shows the unveiling of the creature and its capture by the amazing quick reactions of our 11 year old, Joe. Contains some bad language which I hope you will excuse given the tension!
