"Of Rats and Men . . . "

I am a rat, born in the Year of the Rat, and I’m not going to take the indignity any more. You don’t hear the Chinese people singing the praises of “mice”, and you know why? Because they know better.

Your garden variety mouse isn’t going to have the stamina or upper body strength to run up a clock. No! Mice are owl food. Mice are cat toys. Mice are a dime a dozen, literally, at the pet store. A rat scaled that clock.

Rats are survivors. We can swim. We can dig. We can snag a piece of cheese from the farmer’s wife and NOT get our tails cut off. Why? Because rats are smarter than that, that’s why.

The dish didn’t run away with the spoon. It ran away with a rat. And when the old woman went to the cupboard to get a bone, it wasn’t for her doggie. Her vision was gone months before that. She was feeding a rat, and a resourceful one, too.

I demand justice.

In the rodent-centric world, we rule!
Think you need to go back to school.
Hickory, dickory that
the clock was climbed by the rat.

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