2/50 - Rats

Mr. Wren stalked down the dusky hall, a hulking silhouette carrying a rifle.

“Gonna kill someone?” I inquired.

“Yep.”

He’s a retired Disgruntled Postal Worker, but I wasn’t alarmed. It’s a Daisy rifle. It shoots only tiny BBs. Mr. Wren bought it a few years back after I noticed a humongous gray rat hanging off one of the bird feeders, stuffing his cheek-pockets as fast as he could. When we heard them romping in the attic over our heads, sounding more like energetic, hefty poodles than rodents, he decided to shoot them.

As rat control, this method sucks.