AND ready for sauteing 
For recipe, see Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat.
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Fun fact: cats just don’t have collar bones at all.
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This general rule of thumb applies to most mammals actually, humans included.
I wonder if there is a nozzle design that would allow for efficient combination of the relative chew resistance of metal wools with the convenience, speed, and R-value of blown foam insulation…
It’d probably be fiddly and prone to jamming; but in principle it seems as though you might be able to carry a nice tangle of metal fibers into place on a blow foam spray. Alternately, perhaps a suitably lacerationous solid formed by a reaction at the interface of a binary blown compound, in fractally hostile structures integrated into the foam…
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I must admit some disappointment that all the scary warnings in the SDS are just about the foaming components. The active ingredient doesn’t even get mentioned, aside from being "EPA-registered’.
That’s why Fuzzyfungus’ ‘Spray 1080’ or ‘Foamin’ Fluoroacetate’ is an assured hit. The critics are raving(and convulsing) “Finally a spray more toxic than its inactive ingredients!” and “My Krebs cycle feels lucky!”. *
*may be ineffective at preventing fish ingress; "if there’s piscids in your van no solution in this can’™.
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My personal experience is that REGULAR foam-in-a-can doesn’t get chewed on by mice - they just find another chink in the armor. Squirrels, however, just rip it out with their little rat paws and continue on their merry way. EAT IT, EAT IT ALL YOU DAMNED RODENT!
I saw this a few weeks ago, and was impressed:
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Perfect for keeping your cat piano evenly fed without risk of anachronism.
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Even getting a cat to hang out in your van for a day or two should put the little buggers off, although obviously it’s more effective if you can find a good mouser.
It only took my mum’s cat a few days to completely rid our house of mice, and so far (touches wood), the little buggers haven’t come back, six months later.
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Yeah, I’ve been trying to kidnap (catnap?) my neighbor’s black longhair, Reefer Maxness, whenever he comes over to roll in my catnip shrubbery. Stoned out of his gourd, he still won’t let me carry him inside to sniff around and leave his dander. The little pothead escapes my clutches just in time to avoid being given a job.
“I have cupcakes!”
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