I have rats tap dancing in my roof. It starts off with a few small shuffles and pick ups and, before you know it, it’s the opening number to 42nd Street. God only knows how many are up there, but boy do they like to dance.
They are stuck in the bit of the roof above where I write. In the summer months, they are asleep when I work, but now that the nights have drawn in I get to listen to their warmup numbers just as I finish my day.
