He now has a rat, who also likes mercs.
He opened the boot and saw that his coat was gnawed through. He searched the car but found nothing. Then the groceries he had bought for his son at university were selectively munched. It liked noodles. Again no sign of the rat, no indication of how it got in or how it got out.
The next incident happened on the road. He switched on the indicator and all the lights came on. Off to the mechanic. The car was stripped down. No rat.
We cannot afford a merc, and probably never will. But my husband reckons that this rat is a metaphor for post Celtic Tiger Ireland. We all have a merc rat, he says, something never seen or caught but gnawing away elusively and dangerously from the inside… a health scare, a massive mortgage, a strained relationship, a dead-end job, or no job.
Well… definitely not one of his more humorous insights. And certainly not the time to mention a new couch!
By the way, the mechanic found the internal wires eaten away – hanging by a thread.
The material damage: 1000 euros. The mechanic told him that it only a matter of time before the car stopped dead on the motorway.
Fingers crossed for the rest of us…