White Hunter, Black Slug

After weeks of careful planning we executed our 'slug-sting' operation last night.

Waiting until the sun had gone down we sneaked out of the house knowing the prey's penchant for quiet dark lounges. We figured that the slug would wait for at least three hours after hubbub and light had disappeared, and then venture from its hiding place onto the rug to leave it's insidious messages of hate. This would take it - we guessed - another three hours to complete before it would slide home, giggling to itself like some evil slimy Hitler without any legs.

So after five hours of general feasting and merriment we - much like modern-day Hemingway's - burst back into the house to catch the bastard red-head-feelered.

That's right. We're bad.