Goldsmith HouseContemporary Deck, Melbourne
What Houzz contributors are saying:
Minutes later I appeared at the back door, hot crumble in hand, smile on face. Both men looked pale. I asked what was wrong. My husband pointed. Rat (or Scar, as my son had affectionately named him) was staring at me, whilst sitting on the table. He waited patiently for me to put the crumble down, no doubt a favourite of his. There was no scurrying, no backtracking from whence he came. It took a blood curdling scream from my own mouth to get rid of him, accompanied with yelling and clapping from other horrified members of the fateful barbecue. Needless to say, we adjourned to the kitchen bench. When I had recovered, and the guests had stopped simultaneously laughing and being horrified, we ate the crumble. Traps were set the very next day, humane ones of course, and we haven’t seen our furry friend since. The crumble was delicious by the way.