Raternal Bonds

 
I’ve mentioned in numerous past blogs that my wife, Bobette the Mouse, and I have quite a little brood of our own: octuplets Harry, Larry, Barry, Jerry, Mary, Sherry, Kerry, and Terry, four boys and four girls. They certainly do give us the scuttle-around: being baby rice (since rice is what you get when rats marry mice), they come pre-programmed full of energy with all that starch inside. They’re constantly bouncing all around the hovel (I bet you didn’t know that rice bounce, but try it! go drop you a few grains on the kitchen countertop and see what they do) and as for settling them down for nap time, forget it: you’d have an easier time convincing a rat to attend a cat convention than getting my eight to squeak some shut-eye.
 
Today is Father’s Day, however, and as such I was hoping they would let me sleep in just a little bit late (like I did last week) as a nice present to the old sire. The octuplets had different plans, however. Harry and Mary were first to scuttle in, nudging me off my nestlet to make them my specialty, cheesy eggs with pawpcorn, for breakfast. Barry and Kerry were next, dragging me by the paw to come see the new hole they’d burrowed in the back yard. Then Larry, Jerry, and Sherry rallied the others into getting me to play a game of Hide-and-Squeak, and little Terry, last of all, was not to be outdone: dashing across the burrow, she did a flying leap (we call that a fleap) that would make the Olympic Diving Committee proud right into my paws, snuffling her little rice nose right aside my whiskers in a gesture of replete affection. (She always has been my little snuggler.)
 
So although it would be easier if they’d been born baby mats (which is what you get when mice marry rats), I’ll take my little grains of energy any day paws down – ratscals though they may be, the joys of having them want to spend time with their Paw-Paw beats any amount of slumber I’d try to savor for myself.
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob