Friday, 11 September 2009

Don't leave him out in the cold - un-freeze his wintery rodent heart

There have now been three days in a row of lovely Indian summer in Leeds, and while it's been too late in coming to save my poor runner beans, the sun has brought out a nice sense of happiness to everybody. Even the faceless shoppers crowding the market seemed to get in my way more playfully yesterday. It's this type of spring in the trudge that people need at this horribly transitional time of year. Even for those not about to set off on yet another year of education, September the First always reminds you with a jolt that 1. Winter is "just around the corner" and 2. in a month you'll have to start worrying about moaning that the council's Christmas decorations have been put up Far Too Early. Winter is depressing.

What's worse than a British winter though? Our fascination with the weather must give us some small amount of enjoyment out of the frankly schizophrenic way the rain turns to sheets of ice and back to rays of blinding sun fourty times a day. Revelling in how shit it is that the sky treats us like it's bitch for most of the year unites the nation. "Miserable outside, isn't it?" "Oh yes, awful weather". We fucking love it really. The grey sky matches our secret desires to never have our Scorcher of a Summer expectations met perfectly. We love to be proven right much more than sunbathing or going for a nice walk or generally having a nice life. What we wouldn't like though, is having to spend winter alone if we could help it at all. Which is why from here on out this post will be concerned with finding a lovely date for a certain Lord Rattington-Smythe. Bear with me, this is a brilliant idea, masked as shambolic ramblings. That's my charm, see?

Yesterday I was staggering (not stumbling, which is quite something else altogether) through the burnt-out cars and graffittied railway bridges of Gumtree looking for a kitten to add to my family (Incidentally I found an amazing one...unfortunately we can't afford a pedigree, as heartbreaking as it was to say no) and I came across this little gem of an ad. A person's love for their pets knows no bounds, and this witty lady has decided to hunt high and low for the perfect mate to provide love, affection and babies to the handsome Lord RS, to make him feel like a MAN, in ways that she (legally) can't. And so I pass you into the capable hands of Miss Angelina Summers, to explain the plan in full.

Some people get left what remains of a packet of biscuits. Or maybe a jar of coffee…no-one wants to carry around a jar of coffee when they don’t need it any more do they? Well I got left a rat. I think that probably says a lot about me although I’m not entirely sure what.

Lord Rattington-Smythe arrived as a 5 day holiday booking for a quick £5, all alone in a small hamster cage mourning the death of his bessie mate Bacardi just the week before. You see Rattington used to be called Coke and although this made for ample photo ops with me posing pretending to snort him up my nose or rub him in my gums it just wasn’t GRAND enough for such a handsome and charming rat as the Great Man himself. We clicked instantly. Here was a rat with personality. Here was the sort of rat that got picked for unmanned trips to the moon.

Anyway, 5 days turned into 10. 10 days into a month. Being rather vacant and easily distracted it was about 6 weeks later that I realised no-one had returned for this devilish little raconteur. So I decided to marry him. Well no-one wants to be alone do they?

It was a low key ceremony. I gave him some sausage and a mushroom. He pissed on my sofa and bit the dog. We spent the night watching Conan films and sharing cheap cider. I have to say, it’s my most fulfilling relationship this year….but I can’t give him what he really needs. To empty his enormous aching balls and have a family. There are laws.

So if you know anyone who has an equally enigmatic lady rat who fancies a bit of rumpypumpy from the suavest Norvegicus in town then please contact me….full parental responsibility is a guarantee. This aint no Darren Day kind of rat. Girls for you, boys for me if you like...or I'll take them all for my Hellish ARMY OF DARKNESS.

Did I say that out loud?




If you know of any female ratties who are in the mood for lurrrve, please email me on k.taylor.cronshaw@gmail.com or leave a comment below, and let's see if we can't create something beautiful, huh?

2 comments:

Bailey's Beads said...

Know what your getting yourself into. A rat can have between seven and nine young per nest.

Keeno said...

haha top advert!

don't people just usually use two bricks to prevent male rats urges driving them nuts?


damn that lady's hot though!
haha

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