You've ran over our countertops, scurried up tricky metal rods to reach the bread we tied hoping it was out of your reach, climbed onto our dining table, eaten countless loafs of bread and my freshly baked cheesestick cookies.
At times we would manage to catch a glimpse of you. KS declared you were ang moh as you had brown hair instead of the expected black asian type.
I still remember the first time you announced your presence, with the barking of Ah Jin at the back as he snuffed you out behind the washing machine.
And now, my furry friend, you have been lured into the trap we bought for RM8, dangled a piece of your favourite food - bread. The first bait was my layer cake at first which I will not forgive KS for doing and you didn't appreciate. Anyway, as you baked in the sun, scrambling around, we all felt pity and KS wouldn't, no, COULDN'T look at you for he would surely have released you as he begged me to drive somewhere far away to set you free elsewhere.
As your limp body lies in some dumpster now, I hope you have somehow been able to express your tragedy to other potential Mr. Rats of House No.49 and discouraged them that WE MEAN BUSINESS.
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