That's right, Mr. Rat, and I salute you. I have never come across an animal quite as determined to keep living in my garage as you. I had an inkling when I found the two sticky traps missing, but I got the real feel of it when John found both sticky traps under the lawn mower and covered in huge chunks of gray rat hair. What's next, Mr. Rat? Will you chew your own leg off? What is so amazing about my garage that would make it worth ripping two sticky traps worth of hair off of your body?
There is a kind of honor and diginity to your determination and pugnacity. I can respect it. Now fucking DIE already, would you please?
