Hoggis Heaven

home, It was dark, drizzly and damp when the Craven Heffalump was wakened. "Come quickly," Lambskin panted. "There's another hoggis in the trap!"

It was only a small one. A young, little, perhaps too adventurous for its own good, one. There, in the confines of the cage, shivering quietly to itself long after its bedtime, wondering what it was going to tell Mum & Dad when it got home.

The Heffalump struggled to open the trap, easing the hoggis off the door so that she could prise it open and wedge it with a handy twig. The hoggis stayed put, its spikes doing a gentle Mexican wave as it slowly inhaled... and exhaled. Its yoga teacher would have been impressed by its breathing, the Heffalump mused.

She went to fetch a dish of milk, hoping that would tempt the hoggis out of the cramped confines of the cage, and slowly retreated, leaving it with the space and privacy to get out of bed without showing the world its bedhair.

Checking later, she found no sign of it. The milk was untouched, aside from a fallen leaf.

"That's three hoggises," she sighed to Lambskin. "And one squirrel. And a cat. But still, no rats!"

The trap - one of three, all different - had been set in an attempt to relocate the local rat family, recently displaced from their former home in the field across the road. Things were getting desperate. From an initial single (but pregnant) specimen, the rat family had grown, and now featured at least one second generation and two third generation members in addition to the founder. Even the squirrels were finding space limited, and the goldfinches had had a meeting to complain. The Heffalump wasn't sure what to try next.

"A flute," suggested a friend. "After all, it worked in Hamlin..."