Who's in more pain?

Allow me to begin by stating that I have nothing against rats. In fact, I find them rather cute, furry, and delightful. That is, until they start eating my car. I have a 1967 Ford Galaxie XL convertible:

I'm still in the process of restoring it. Currently, it sits in my driveway, under a tarp and cover. It needs a new top, new window motors (electric windows, on a car over 40 years old, gotta love that!), and a laundry list of other things as long as it is.

Now, on to the rat. Recently I've discovered that rats are beginning to chew up the underside of the back seat, the carpet, and various other things. Not to mention, they apparently don't abide by the axiom "Don't shit where you eat". Now that my beloved car is a biological hazard, I figured it's time to take action against the rats. So, I've placed little trays of delicious rat food around the property. Of course, the delicious rat food just happens to be laced with a chemical that coagulates their blood . . . but I've found that rats with coagulated blood don't seem to be interested in chewing on cars. Or anything else for that matter.

This morning, I walk to the garbage can (which is near one of the trays of poison), and there's my foe. He/she is sitting there on the sidewalk, wobbling, and peering at me, as if to ask for some Pepto to go with the meal I provided. I hang my head, and wander back into the house. When I return later, the rat is gone, thankfully. I'm now saved from witnessing the horrible fate I've visited on this poor little furry creature (and yes, I must say, quite cute).

Now, I'm an avid hunter, fisherman, etc. I don't generally have a problem killing animals. However, when I do, it's usually for the purpose of eating them. While I realize that poisoning rats is a fairly common pasttime, I can't help but feel absolutely horrible about it.

I've gone out again, and now this doomed critter is sitting in front of my porch. Still wobbling, still dying . . . slowly. I've considered putting him/her out of its misery, but the only fashion in which I feel like doing so involves a loud report, and likely a police report as well. I just can't bring myself to now bludgeon this thing to death.

So, here I sit . . . . hoping that this thing's constitution is just about evaporated, like so much of its blood. I half expect that the next time I walk out there, it'll be sitting there ON my porch dead, with an apology note in it's cute little paws. Sigh.