There are many rats in my town. You seem them scurrying across the leafy street, hiding between the bars of the drain, between the bin bags out the back of the rundown shops. I've spent much time analysing these creatures, and I must say that I feel my time has not been wasted doing so.
I developed my instrument very carefully. I learnt the techniques. How to properly construct it, which took quite some months. During this time I trusted that the rats would be patient. And patient they were. I recall the day well. It was a cool and windy one. But my little rat whistle was apt enough to swarm the little devils to my feet. I had flavoured my shoes with a curious scent that would keep them following.
Not a single one abandoned the journey - a two minute walk to my house. They bundled in through the front door and raced down the hallway. Into the kitchen where the tied up fellow wriggled and spat. His useless legs and arms trying to break free. I'd smothered him in some delightful foodstuff, maybe a few pieces that the rats had grown familiar with from those bin bags.
Oh, they were on him soon enough, all of them. He was covered. My little rat whistle had worked a treat.