An Itch in Time

 
With the advent of summer I’ve found myself out of the hovel a lot recently, especially in the twilight hours after the heat of the day has passed. June has seen the arrival of lightning bugs in the suburban and rural parts of Ratlanta, and I’ve enjoyed this because my beady-red rat eyes can actually see them in the nighttime (we rats have a poor sense of vision and rely mostly on smell) and they make a lovely sight. Alas, however, the time has come to say pawdios to these sparkling little gems and welcome another crepuscular insect, the mosquito. Er, perhaps “welcome” isn’t the right term; there’s nothing we welcome about them. And forget about calling them “crepuscular” (which means that they’re active at dawn and dusk) – they’re downright creepuscular if you ask me.
 
Just like with you humans, mosquitoes see rodent blood as a superior source of sustenance. And just like with y’all, when they bite they give us quite an unsqueakable itch. They’re almost worse than fleas – and fleas are fleadiculous, as I’ve mentioned in previous blogs (see Flea Market, Margarataville, and Rat Recovery). Unlike you humans, however, we don’t have the option of putting anti-itch medicine on our bug bites; it just doesn’t penetrate our fur. Instead we have to suffer through the itch and content ourselves to scratching for what seems the longest time. Not rat-tastic at all.
 
Squeaking of time, it would be fabulous if I could do a flying leap (a.k.a. fleap) ahead to a day when lab rats find a cure for the itch, or better yet, a pesticide for the pests. (Not against us, mind you … how could you ever think rats are pests? The clawdacity!) Then we’d be able to scuttle around in the twilight enjoying the fireflies (not to be confused with fire-fleas – they’re worse than mosquitoes) to our ratty hearts’ content. We could also go on multiple cheese forages without fear of the dreaded itch that will leave us scratching for hours and then grooming our fur for several hours more to make ourselves presentable. Sadly, however, lab rats have yet to build such a ratical contraption, so we can’t fast-forward or paws and rewind.
 
So until the day when science creates that elusive time machine (or at least some rodent-friendly DEET and hydrocortisone cream) we’ll be scratching through the summer nights right along with you, and looking forward to the fall when all the little buggers say “pawdios” themselves. In the meantime, be sure to stay close to your flea-swatter; so will we.
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

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

Rat Nap

 
Have you heard Bruno Mars’s “The Lazy Song” yet? Very funny indeed … I think all of us need a “slob day” every now and then. (Some would argue that rats take a slob day every day – something about our affinity for grossness – but I digress.)
 
Yesterday was one of those days for me: I didn’t check my flea-mail, scuttle onto Muzzlebook, or even bother to groom my fur; nope, I just stayed in my nestlet all day. I wasn’t ratatonic, mind you: I at least did sniff around the hovel for some cheese crumbs at some point, but by and large it was a squeaktacular day for a rat nap, which is a good downer from all the stress in the news lately (from human and rodent perspectives alike).
 
Staying in my cool hole in the wall was also a great escape from the oppressive Ratlanta heat: currently the Deep South is gripped in a drought-inducing heat wave. (Contrast that to the icy vice grips of Old Man Winter we had at the beginning of the year … it’s fleadiculous! There’s one thing you can predict easily about Georgia weather, and that’s that it’s unpredictable.) With temperatures forecast in the upper 90s I was happy to stay in the coolness of my little hovel, carved out right next to the air conditioning vent in the wall of my human family’s home. (They haven’t found it yet, and that’s likely a good thing – I think they probably wouldn’t appreciate my, er, “remodeling.”)
 
So while the heat continues to burn like brass and the news unrelentingly doles up its craziness in the world, I think I might indeed return to the nestlet and catch another 40 stinks – uh, make that winks. (I’m not by the scullery, after all.) I hope you too can find the freedom to take a slob day every now and then and indulge yourself in your own rat nap. After all, it’s like Bruno says: “Today I don’t feel like doing anything … nothing at all.”
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Cheesy Jokes

 

As you may have surmised from these many blogs I’ve written over the past year describing my ratty antics, I like my jokes like I like my pizza: extra-cheesy. Here are some cheesy jokes to give a whiskery tickle to your funny bone.
 
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What’s a rodent’s favorite breakfast food? Mice Krispies!
 
What does a rat do when it has a toothache? It goes to the rodentist.
 

How do you get a great-looking lawn? Aerate the soil.
 
Why didn’t the rat squeak his boss what he really thought? He didn’t have the pawdacity.
 
What is a romantic rodent’s favorite holiday? Volentine’s Day!
 
What’s the best present a rat can give his wife on their anniversary? Chewelry.
  
How do rodents keep their drinks cold? They put mice cubes in them!

 

Why did the rats leave the theater? They didn’t think the movie was rodentertaining.
 
What does a rodent say when it wants you to stop a video? “Paws the tape!”
 
Why couldn't the rodent get tickets to the game? It was voled out.
 
Which rodents are the best at solving crimes? Miami Mice!
 
Why did the police think that the rodent was using drugs? He was acting irrationally.
 
Why was the cop happy when he finally caught the fugitive? He was tired of the cat-and-mouse game.
 
Why shouldn’t you mess with an Asian rodent? It might know karate.
 
Which mice were the best at sword fights? The Three Mouseketeers!
 
Which rodent’s favorite letter is “Arr”? A pirat.
 
What’s the process by which bald rodent pups grow fur as they mature? Metamorfuzzis.
 
What did the big rat say to the little rat? “You’re a pipsqueak!”
  

Why couldn’t the rat drive into town? His ratiator overheated!
 
Why didn’t the rodent’s car pass emissions testing? The ratalytic converter was broken.
 
Which rodents make the best mechanics? Hood rats!
 
What do you call rodents who are rich? Aristocrats!
 
Why did the rat leave the military? He was pawnorably discharged.
 
What do you call rats who are brothers? A fraternity.
 
What did the rat say when he scuttled by the dumpster? “This smells pawful! (Anybody want lunch?)”
 
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I hope you’ve been entertained by my side-splitting squeaks, and never fear: just as one would describe the breeding habits of us rodents, there’s more where that came from. So stay tuned to Bob’s Blogs – same rat time, same rat channel – because hey, it’s not easy being cheesy, but some rat’s gotta do it.
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob