Its a faulty rat

There is nothing like a rat to instill panic, fear and hysteria amongst the wider public. Given the statistical and anecdotal evidence on the physical numbers and therefore the strong possibility of one crossing your path on an hourly or daily basis this is quite understandable. The fear of rats is therefore somewhat akin to our perception of the fear of crime. I have had a fascination with the creatures since early childhood and have enjoyed moments of casual observation from a distance, sheer terror on a very close face to whisker basis and wrenching sadness as I maintain that a rat borne disease did for our dog, Toffy the German Pointer.

The rat has struggled for any semblance of good publicity. Carrier of plaque, scavenger capitalising on human hardship, deserter of a sinking ship, association with dirt, sewers and love cheats. I can think of perhaps one positive connotation being the British fighting forces in the North African desert. Even the good natured and intentioned although ultimately mercenary Pied Piper was done over by the supposed Civil minded Burghers of Hamlyn because he hung around with rats. Saying that, and with no names mentioned to protect the downright ugly, is it true that those in the rat catching and indeed broader rodent and pest control sector do have a resemblence, facially and in mannerisms to rats?

A particularly interesting rat kept me quite engaged as a young child.

It was just about discernible as a member of that species because it had been killed on the road and thereafter subjected to targeted running over by motorists across the full range of vehicles from bicycles, motorbikes, private cars, light vans, buses and large commercial trucks. In off peak hours of road use the tastier organs, chewy tendons, deep black eyeballs and fleshy parts provided sustenance to other members of its family and a wider range of carrion and just downright opportunists in the natural world .

Over time, the camber of the highway working with intermittent surface water run off and splash from tyres had eased the pulverised carcass over to the gutter. After some natural drying out in the sun the now hairless cadaver, flat and leathery assumed a certain lightness and was blown around like a dead leaf in the slipstream of the traffic. A combined vortex of HGV's and a light westerly breeze deposited the now almost transparent representation of a rat on the wide verge and that was where I came across it.

At first it took some staring to identify what indeed the curious item was. I thought at first that it was the insole from a shoe, the mocassin of a passing Sioux or one of those gristly dog chews made from gelatine or cow horn. With the aid of my faithful stick I was able to rearrange the exhibit. It was definitely a rat. It looked as though careful insertion of a bicycle pump would restore the thing to a more natural shape and recognisable form. I toyed with it out of morbid interest using the pointed end of the stick. It was so dry that there was no prospect of extruded materials and certainly nothing to keep maggots or insects at all engaged.

It could have endless possibilities for mischief and mayhem and I imagined secreting it away in a desk at school, leaving it around the house or on practical grounds it would make a nice bookmark to be left amongst the pages of a popular read in the municipal library. The combinations of fun that could come from that single object gave me a headache. For a few moments I assumed ownership of the artefact. I stood over it as though jealously guarding the discovery from other claimants. The face of a small child, pressed up in a snotty haze on the passenger side window of a passing car, displayed complete approval and a bit of envy at my good fortune. I was the intrepid explorer and seeker of treasure trove even though it was only the A15 trunk road.

As with most young lads of my age I soon became distracted by more interesting things on that very productive  verge. A popped out catseye, the tail light from a Morris Marina, part of a number plate that was almost a full rude word but was good fun for that anyway and a used prophylactic which, when looped over the stick end, could be catipulted into someones back garden on the route home for tea. The implications arising from that subsequent discovery could be quite far reaching.

I can imagine that dried and dessicated rat being preserved for Millenia in that very spot and perpetuating the desire of small boys to challenge and frighten themselves until the next wave of boredom sets in.