I MUST confess I have never much liked rats, ever since I was woken at 3am in a Moroccan mud hut by one brazenly sitting on my bare chest.
Even now, years later, I can clearly recall lying on a bed roll, feeling those small sharp claws digging into my hot skin as the rat sniffed around for food. Squatting there on my solar plexus, it actually seemed quite heavy.
With no electricity in the huts, it was only by chance that my hand happened to be lying near the torch. Finally waking, I scrabbled to switch it on, just in time to see the rat bounce away and streak up the wall into the thatched roof.
The most amazing aspect of the whole incident, however, was witnessing the speed of the human female following my shout of: "Rat!"
My partner went from deep sleep to a quivering, shrieking, standing position faster than an Olympic sprinter off his starting blocks. I was lucky not to be bitten. Rats anywhere, but especially in Africa, carry a number of horrible diseases and I would not have rated my chances of enjoying the rest of my holiday very highly if that foraging rodent had sunk his teeth into my blood stream. Mind you, it could have been worse. We were told that the previous year a German couple had flown home after finding a cobra slithering about in their hut - presumably seeking a tasty rat for its supper.
Although I don't really like rats, I can't help but admire them. Their survival skills are second to none in the animal world, which is why there are now estimated to be five or so resident rats for every human being in Britain, the vast majority living unseen alongside us. Crafty, resourceful, and stealthy, they are unlike other rodents such as rabbits in that their diet extends to meat, sometimes meat which they kill themselves. Hungry rats commonly prey on mice or frogs and I once disturbed one lurking at the edge of a lake, waiting for the chance to snatch a tiny duckling among several passing by. (It was fairly easy not to confuse it with a harmless 'water rat' - which is really a vole - because of its sharper features and the fact it fled away from the water.)
The brown rat is now by far the commonest species in this country, having ousted the black rat from many of its old stamping grounds. Bigger and more aggressive than the black rat, the brown is as likely to be found living in a country hedgerow or farm building as eking out an existence beneath the floorboards of the grandest Metropolitan mansion.
With many predators such as foxes, cats and owls to contend with, it's little wonder brown rats are super efficient breeders, giving birth to as many as 11 babies at a time.
That rats are intelligent will come as no surprise to anyone who keeps them as pets, the white pet shop version being a more placid derivation of the original brown rat. But it is still enthralling to see that intelligence at work.
I remember visiting a decrepit little railway station one afternoon, hoping to meet a friend off a train. To get to the deserted platform, I had to walk down a flight of ancient steps which were strewn with assorted rubbish. The train duly arrived and a couple of passengers got off and walked up those steps. My friend didn't. Feeling a bit miffed as the train moved off, I decided to wait there for the next one to arrive in about 10 minutes and leant into a recess in the wall. I was alone again now, the only sound the faint clink-clinking of the railway line measuring the train's departure until even that had petered out. As soon as it did, I became aware of a faint rustling to my left. I stuck my head out and saw five rats had appeared on the steps. They were feasting again on some food left in the rubbish. It was quite obvious they had been waiting patiently to resume their meal. I watched them until the railway line began to gently clink-clink again to herald the approach of the next train. Immediately, almost as one, they vanished down a hole nearby. Smart cookies, rats.

DAVID KAVANAGH

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