I want rat killers

Living with Bubba (the beautiful black cat in my slide show), I learned to be alert whenever he came home.  He liked to hunt, everywhere, including down in the storm drain. 

He liked to bring home his prey, sometimes dead, sometimes alive, but always in his mouth, accompanied by a rather muffled, proud, meow, and a tail hanging down out of his mouth on one side.  His own tail would be high, his posture very proud and satisfied. 

He'd brought us a treat.  

He did teach Baby Girl to hunt rat, apparently, before he died, even though he was dying of heart failure. 

However, she never brought any home after he died.  But now, apparently, she has children to teach.  

That's right.  Last night I heard the pet door flap.  My chair faces away from the pet door.  I didn't think much of it until I heard a muffled meow.

I knew that.  Sure enough, I turned, and, to my horror, Baby Girl was toting a rat the size of one of the kittens.  I screamed at Ron to hide in his room.  He asked me why and I yelled "Rat!".  He began to stagger down the hall.  Baby Girl dropped the rat by the enthralled kittens and began playing with the stiff corpse. 

Oh no. 
NO. 
NO. 

Yes.  I got up and yelled at her to stop.  She picked up the rat and ran down the hall towards my bedroom, apparently chasing Ron, who was rather slow to flee.  He couldn't get the door shut around his walker and fumbled desperately as I shouted, she meowed, and all the cats converged on the fascinating trophy. 

It came to rest outside the laundry room.  Everyone wanted to eat it. 

If you need to know why I said no, it could have been poisoned.  I don't want my cat dying because it ate secondhand poison.  Much less all 4 cats. 

I chased the cats away (I had a hell of a time with the kittens, who were enthralled).   I looked at the very stiff, very large, corpse. 

I was out of practice, but this was bigger even than Bubba's usual "treat".  The body was at least 8-9 inches long.  The tail was nearly that long as well. 

I didn't want to put it in the dustpan.  It was too big and I might drop it. 

Thank God it was garbage night.  But what a horrible shock for a garbage picker! 

Wait a minute.  Had anyone pissed me off, lately?  Here's a great chance to get back at them!  [snorting with laughter]  Of course I didn't, but I did consider.  I only thought, for a second, about leaving it for someone to find. 

One of the kittens climbed into a plastic shopping bag and made it rustle.  Ah.  I'd put the rat in the dustpan, then into the shopping bag - and take it out to the trash can sitting at the curb. 

I did so.  However, I kept thinking the dead rat would reanimate and attack.  Of course it didn't, but I was sure glad to be rid of it. 

Baby Girl had no idea why I had taken her treat, or why I was so upset.  Poor BG. 

Poor Heather! 

That's really the only scenario (that and overflowing toilet) where I wish Ron could see.  The rest of the time I don't care. 

However, living with Ron, in Texas, with my cats, has made a real man out of me.  I suppose Baby Girl will continue the kittens' "education". 

And, I have to say, at the end of the day, I want rat killers.