Hi, Andrea! Hi, Dizzy! ~waves~
God save the Queen!
Davy was the cute one!
Meanwhile, progress is … er … progressing on the paper editions of the SAGE trilogy. They, and at least the electronic version of SIDESHOW IN THE CENTER RING, will be out by the end of the month. Yay!
And now, today’s story:
by Marian Allen
“It seems odd to me,” said my shop assistant, Andrea. “I do understand the need, but how can you do it?”
Rats are my life. Never married; never will; no woman alive would eat, breathe, and dream rats, as I do.
Not nasty rats, though. With every man’s hand turned against them, feral rats are canny and fierce. They’re a danger to life and property, and no mistake. Let’s not forget The Black Plague, although technically that was fleas, not the rats proper.
At any rate, part of my dedication to rattery was my dedication to eliminating as much of the feral population as possible.
The best part was the clean-up, when I investigated any place my clients had marked as a place they’d seen rats hanging about or going into or coming from. I often found nests of ratkins, many of them old enough to survive without their mums. I kept the nicest ones, and bred them into my private stock. Couldn’t sell them in the shop, of course, but a lot of people preferred hand-raised common rats; they considered them more English, for some reason.
I shrugged myself into my uniform jacket and put on my hat.
“Everything well in hand here, then?”
Andrea made a face. “Don’t forget your Fiendish Device.”
“Got it right here.” I lifted the long, slim case and waggled it.
“Off with you, then.”
“Right.” I hated to leave the shop but, once I was out and had climbed into the van, I was almost a different person. By the time I had pulled out of the village and onto the motorway, I was no longer the proprietor of Best Fancy Rats. I was the man whose name was stenciled on the side of the van:
P. Piper, Exterminator.
~ * ~
It’s Tuesday, so I’m posting at Fatal Foodies on the subject of a happy childhood memory.
MY WRITING PROMPT TODAY: Rats