We’ve long had a problem with rats in our garage. They’re cut little bush rats, but they chew holes in things, make lots of noise, and are generally a nuisance.

Today, my family had a look through the garage and found that our problem had resolved itself. You see, when we moved here, we brought a packet of rat poison. We put it on ground level, and forgot that it was even there. But now, this forgotten packet of rat poison was lying ripped apart on the ground, the poison itself (it resembles blue Play-Doh) lying in clumps over the garage floor. The rats had stumbled upon it, and had begun eating it over the course of a few weeks. Needless to say, their meal was never completed.

Our pristine garage has become a Dachau. There were two dead rats side by side, and one was teeming with maggots. We found another dead rat inside a gardening pot. A fourth dead rat was found in another location, but we don’t think he was killed by the poison since he is heavily decomposed. Old age, probably.

There’s guaranteed to be more dead rats. This week, I intend to play a grisly, rat-based version of Where’s Waldo in our garage. Except instead of finding an amusing fellow with a red, stripey hat, I will get the opportunity to ponder my own mortality.