It has recently come to my understanding that I have non-consensually acquired a rattus rattus in my flattus flattus. The following diary series will document my experience and courses of action from first signs to eventual resolution, in whatever form that may take.

#1 The Beginning

One fine unremarkable evening in my stylish Victorian West Bridgford second floor flat, I made myself some dark rye sourdough toast, Aldi range. After enjoying this with a bucket-load of extra virgin olive oil and salt I left the bag with two remaining slices on the kitchen worktop. The next day I was typically easy like a Sunday morning and crawled out of bed to go to the kitchen and repeat the experience.

But the bag was empty.

Now I wouldn’t put it past myself to have made some sort of error here, such as imagining the remaining two slices, or eating them and forgetting about it. I went to dispose of the bag and spotted something of interest; there was a hole in the bag, expertly made by teeth which were almost certainly not mine. Was this incontrovertible proof that things were awry, and not quite as they were previously? Hmm, I didn’t know.  Life was in full swing with work and play, and I proceeded, skipping along as usual.