I couldn’t put it off any longer, bad back or not… the sheets needed changing and the mattress was overdue to be turned. My son, for reasons best known to himself, chose to furnish himself with one of those huge beds of the mega-super-king variety that are the size of a small playing field. The kind that is so heavy, it is impossible to move without a crane and which has a solid-seeming base that extends between mattress and floor. He is also furnished with one very small mother. Changing the bed is a job I dread as, given my vertically challenged status, I could use the duvet cover for a bivouac and still have room in there to party.
The very idea of turning the mattress makes me break out in a cold sweat. It is not a job I can easily do alone at the best of times. This time, however, the bad back was going to come in handy. There is always a silver lining somewhere, if you look hard enough. My son would have to help.
This is not as simple as it might seem, considering that standing and balancing are things he cannot do well, especially while trying to do something else. But I saw no reason why that should get in the way.
Stripping the bed was easy. It was when we came to turn the mattress that things took a turn for the worse. Halfway round, the edge of the mattress caught the slats on the bed base and pulled them out of place, unclipping them from the centre of the bed. The only thing for it was to balance the mattress as best we could, while I tiptoed between the remaining slats to put things right. All well and good… until I lifted one offending slat from the floor.
There, before my poised toe, and right beneath where my son lays his head, was a rat. Not just any rat either. Both it and its population of insect casings were mummified. I may have squealed. When I gingerly picked it up by its tail, it was a stiff as a board and the mummification process left a rat-shaped stain on the carpet.
Many things made sense. My son has a well-stocked bird table that attracts a lot of wildlife… including the creature he had watched, fascinated by its agility, before calling me to ask if there were any such thing as ‘a bald-tailed squirrel’. Boots, the first cat my son had taken pity on a couple of winters ago, is a huntress and, for the first few months of her residency, had regularly brought ‘gifts’ to his bedroom door. Usually birds, occasionally a mouse and once a full-grown rat. Or, as we now knew, twice.
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Reblogged this on Viv Drewa – The Owl Lady.
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Thank you, Viv xxx
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Reblogged this on Die Erste Eslarner Zeitung – Aus und über Eslarn, sowie die bayerisch-tschechische Region!.
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Thank you for reblogging, Michael 🙂
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I had a cat who delighted in the catching and consumption of birds whenever the mood took him. (which wasn’t all that often, thankfully) He did not, however ‘do’ feet. They were left in all the places you’d imagine, including one rather sad pair in the toilet bowl.
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Boots would east some of them too…except feet.
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I think it might be the claws … a bit hard to digest. 🙂
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One very hard winter I had a buzzard take a starling from the bird table. He sat and ate it right in front of my window… he left the feet too.
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I’m seeing a pattern here. 🙂
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Yep 🙂
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Unbelievable story. I’m sorry but I had to chuckle, especially since hub and me just tackled the turning of the mattress yesterday. Thankfully no rats, but our backs are definitely getting old for that stuff, LOL. ❤
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I know that feeling, Debby! Especially given the size of Nick’s mattress! ❤ x
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You’re one tough cookie girl! 🙂 ❤
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Necessity 😉 x
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❤
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