Burying Ratzilla

Kathe's son Justin had a falling-out with his girlfriend awhile back. Also with his mother. And me. And anyone who speaks to us. And his rats.

Four fat, happy, well-acculturated male rats, left at our house by Justin. They've been on our living room coffee table in their big wire cage ever since.

Rats don't live all that long, although they live a lot longer if you take good care of them. These days they're all looking a bit shopworn, their fur a bit thin. And then today Ratzilla died.

We buried him out front, among the raspberry canes. I tried to avoid any of the other pet graves, but the dirt on one side of the hole collapsed, and by the time I had the dirt cleared, I'd brought up a cat skull, Yorick-fashion. Sorry, kitty. I put the skull back in the hole, alongside Ratzilla.

The others won't be much longer.

And that's about the most interesting thing that's happened around here lately.

On another matter:

The American Jewish World Service thinks UN Peacekeepers should go to Darfur.

Sounds like a good idea to me, too.

They asked me to take action, and I did. Not much action, but probably more than you have done. Want to remedy that situation?

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Couldn't hurt."\\