e need to do something about the rat,’ I said to my husband, who had taken to standing at his home office window and staring at said rat scurrying around the garden. Apparently I should have been more specific, because he took that to mean we had to the rat, which was really not what I had been going for. Also, any fool could see that name. Ratney Dangerfield was a strong contender for a while there, but after much heated debate we finally settled on Rat Stewart. Partly because of the striking similarity between his and his near-namesake’s hair, but mostly because we’d both been working from home far too long.
