Karma waits

The possums were making love last night, which sounds like an English soccer riot complete with unnecessary violence. I must try it that way one day. I was offered a bit of bdsm on the web this week but I can't wear those costumes..too laughable. I think bursting into uncontrollable giggles when playing Ork, the monster rapist dressed in leather face mask and panties would not achieve the desired result for my partner. The weirdest I get is dressing up in hard hat, plaid shirt , gauntlets and steel capped boots, That is quite “out of character” enough for me. All my friends have asked for a picture of me dressed like that. Hmmm. Now THAT is very weird! I'm not sure whether it says something about me or speaks volumes for my friends.
I am going to download everything from the village people and play it LOUD next time while I dance around the log pile looking winsome in flannel shirt and steel capped boots.

The rats, ahh the rats. I did a terrible thing. I know they are only here for the winter and that as soon as spring bounds into life with warmth and new life they will be off without waiting for the bill. However, I was so tired of their squeaking and trapezing into the kitchen where they made crashing noises all through the night . I set a trap. Baited with dried apricot.
Next morning, shivering and squeaking a juvenile was hunched on the kitchen floor. He didn't even run away when I approached so much in pain was he. I scooped him up and with two fingers gave him the coup de grace while asking for Buddha's mercy on both our souls. Both the possums and the remaining rats were utterly silent for the rest of that day. What possessed me the next day I have no idea, but Thursday I set the trap again. Not twenty minutes into my morning cuppa and “Snap” clunk , squeak. The male rat was squirming under the bar of the trap. He was too big for it, I watched, amazed and very squeamish as he writhed his way from under the bar and scampered slowly and clumsily back to his sanctuary in the roof. He is, for a rat, very handsome, he has a snow white belly, dapper grey top, a long sinuous tail and a set of balls that call for a gasp of amazement.
The rats are now quiet as mice. No carefree squeaking as they create a new generation of the incontinent. No loud clunking as they cavort in the kitchen. I think they have decided to winter somewhere less lethal. I have thrown away the trap.

Of course, the week got off to a bad start, not only divesting myself of the moll's attachments but as I was typing a monologue I heard panic stricken clucking from the chooks that were sheltering underneath my window. I shot outside to see a large, yellow eyed fox snatch the silkie hen and run off with her screaming futiley for help clenched in its jaws. This was at 10 am. As I stood there with a fist sized rock in my hand, the bugger came running back for another hen! He stopped for a fraction of a second as startled as I. I let fly instinctively with the rock as he turned. It made a satisfying thud as it connected with his flank as he gracefully leaped back up the hill into the undergrowth. The chickens now are confined to the run I built last week, Mr fox has been back but for once my handyman skill seem to be adequate and he has not gained entry. The white hen is broody. She is sitting on four eggs, enough for a bantam I feel.