When rats die, they go to rat heaven or rat hell. The terminal stations in human afterlives do not have physical locations but do have common physical associations; in the rat afterlife, these associations are both based in reality and inverted. Rat heaven is below, in the subway muck. Rat hell is above, in the nest of a hawk.
Here is something I had not considered: That in Manhattan, and probably Queens and Brooklyn and the Bronx, live hawks. Hawks in windows and hawks on roofs. Big hawks, abducting rodents and laying eggs. This week, hatching them! Nor had I imagined the existence of a network of websites and [...]
It seems like if you live in a place where they make rat traps this big, you should not be surprised by the presence of massive rats. But what do I know? Nothing. The whole fucking world is a mystery by which I am constantly befuddled and surprised, even when it involves something as simple as rat-related miscellany. It's a gigantic goddamn conundrum that will baffle and perplex me until the day I finally die, which cannot come soon enough.
And scene: "Britain's oldest pet dies as tortoise that survived two world wars passes away aged 130 after being bitten on the leg by a rat"
"Absolutely no one likes a rat, a city official said on Tuesday, demanding $1.5 million be restored to the budget to be help control what he called Manhattan's horrific rat problem. Seeing vermin running amok on city streets and in subway tunnels is a turn-off for tourists, said Manhattan Borough president Scott Stringer." —Uh, those of us who live here aren't exactly thrilled by it either.
Uh oh, dude: Having sisters makes you less attractive to other women. Okay, this is actually just the case for rats, but as Science always says, "The results… also have implications for humans." So sure, go with it. It's your sister's fault that you're not getting any.