Back when I was fourteen years old, we had a lot of rats running around the house. One day - it was a school holiday, at about ten in the morning - I found a rat, quite a large one, in my bedroom. I called my dad, we shut the room's doors and windows, and began hunting that rat. Amazingly, we could not find it, and we looked everywhere. Not a sign.
Well, after an hour of fruitless effort (we really had a lot of time on our hands) we decided that the rat had got away somehow, so we opened the door and windows and I went off to the library. I returned after a couple of hours, rather tired (the library was a fair way to walk and it was very hot that day) and sat down on my bed to relax. As I was taking my shoes off I felt something move under my butt. I jumped up, pulled off the bedspread, and there was the rat, gasping out its life. It must have thought that was an excellent hiding place, in my bed. Unfortunately, it stayed there a sight too long. I'd sat down bang on it and crushed its chest...
I don't know how many more people have killed rats by sitting on them. My feat might even be unique.
Damn it, where are the Guinness Book people when you need them?
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