Full Revelations of a Professional Rat-catcher After 25 Years' Experience — Reading Companion

Trapping Without Bait

Matthews’s primary method is the steel spring trap, but he insists on a counterintuitive rule: never put bait on the traps. Instead, place them directly in the rats’ runs. He argues that rats are too cautious to approach baited traps, but will step on an unbaited trap placed in their habitual path. This principle recurs throughout the book, supported by observations of rats circling cage traps for an hour, entering halfway, then retreating. Matthews presents this as evidence of their “cunning instinct.” He does not claim this method guarantees success, but offers it as the most reliable based on his experience.

Rats as Swimmers and Divers

Matthews describes rats in water with striking specificity. A rat can survive submerged for about seven minutes, and when pursued by a dog, it dives and resurfaces fifteen yards away. It will then hide with only its nose above water, resting on a floating leaf or reed. If the leaf gives way, the rat surfaces at the water’s edge to breathe, causing the dog to lose the scent. These details are not mere curiosities; they inform Matthews’s practical advice on hunting rats near pits or rivers. He presents the rat as a tactical opponent, always watching the dog and conserving energy.

The Tail as a Tool

One of the most memorable passages describes a rat on a pigsty swill tub. Unable to reach the greasy swill ten inches below, the rat scrapes grease from the sides with its front paws. When that fails, it turns around, grips the tub rim, dips its tail into the swill, then climbs up to lick the tail clean. Matthews also tried to trick the rat by covering the swill with bran and placing a lump in the middle, but the rat refused to jump—instinctively sensing danger. This episode illustrates Matthews’s method of close, patient observation and his respect for the rat’s intelligence.

Fighting Rats and Egg Carrying

Matthews occasionally staged rat fights for audiences, taking two rats from his cage and setting them on a table. He notes they fight “like two bulldogs,” a comparison that underscores their ferocity. Elsewhere, he recounts finding fifteen whole eggs in a cellar beneath nine stone steps, carried there by rats from a hen house. He admits he cannot explain how they did it, but insists on reporting only what he saw. This restraint is typical: Matthews avoids speculation, grounding his revelations in personal observation, even when the facts seem improbable.

Matthews’s book is best read as a record of practical knowledge earned through repetition and failure. He does not promise extermination—he states outright that complete eradication is impossible, especially in large towns. Instead, he offers methods that work, and a naturalist’s eye for the creature’s habits. Readers interested in urban wildlife, historical pest control, or plain-spoken memoir will find this a singular document.

That rainy afternoon, Ike Matthews’s calm notes on patient observation made me think of other quiet, deliberate lives. His rats, ever cunning, felt far removed from the soft hum of a hive. I closed one book and, almost by accident, found myself beside Bee Keeping — Reading Companion, its pages full of a different, gentler sort of order.