Pawful Pollen

 
Achoo! Oh, how my little rat nose is so clogged!
 
This week Ratlanta saw its highest pollen counts in years, with the tiny granules causing it to soar to 8,164 on Monday, thereby shattering the longstanding record of 6,013 set back in April of 1999. Then the next day we busted even that record by more than a thousand points, topping out at 9,369. With counts of 5,174 and 4,379 on the days after that, and Friday’s merciful rain washing out the muck but still keeping things up at 1,009, it’s safe to say that this week’s been the most miserable that local allergy sufferers have experienced – ever. Including one little rat.
 
With the insidious imps invading the air I’ve been forced to make my nestlet out of tissues rather than the typical cotton bedding, and I can distinctly say it’s not nearly as comfortable. The pollen’s also been percolating my fur so that I’ve begun to look more tan than black, and this stuff is itchier than fleas! In fact I feel so terrible that I’ve been pondering going to visit the veterinarian to see if he has any allergy medicine made in rat dosages. And as you might remember from one of my previous blogs, I’ve got to be in some serious misery to overcome my fear of the vet!
 
On a sunny note, these record-setting pollen counts have inspired me to bring out my artistic side: if you feel so inclined, please sniff out the picture album I made on my “Muzzlebook” page (www.facebook.com/bobtherat); just like this blog, it’s entitled Pawful Pollen. (I hope sniffing through it doesn’t clog your muzzle!) In the meantime I’ll stay hunkered down in my tissue nestlet, looking forward to the day when pollen season ends and ragweed season begins, because at least you can wet rags, right?
 
Keepin’ it squeak (with a hankie in paw),
Bob

Squeaky Green

 
Greetings to ya on this bonny blue Raturday afternoon! ’Tis St. Ratrick’s Day today, don’t ya know, and the sewers do be flowin’ with many a pint o’ Guinness to celebrate the holiday.
 
Today it be favorable for everyone to be wearin’ the green, which isn’t a problem for the blue jays: all they’ve got to do is go a-flyin’ around and have the tree pollen land on ’em to be properly dressed! Meanwhile us rats be contentin’ ourselves to get our green on by just a-nibblin’ on some blue cheese – that way when we smile our incisors will be green, providin’ we’re a-scamperin’ about outside in the pollen as well. O’ course the pollen do have a tendency to clog our wee ratty airways – in which case it’s a good idea for us to be gettin’ back to the sewers and takin’ a swig o’ that Guiness to wash everythin’ out.
 
Me human family sure’n be happy about the holiday: their last name be McGill, so it’s a good reminder to them o’ their Irish forebears. I guess then, since we be part of the same family, that I should be remembrin’ me Irish fore-rats, right? Well, we’ll go with that for the sake o’ bein’, anyway. (O’ course, I might be squeakin’ a bit o’ blarney.) The twins’ Irish be comin’ from both sides o’ the family, but since Big Burly Pop be taller than 6’4” and only one o’ the girls has topped the 5-foot mark (and barely squeaked it out at that), he makes it a point to remind ’em that they must be descended from leprechauns through their ma. (When he does this, they silently wish a potato blight on him.)
 
On that note, I’ll be a-scuttlin’ along … me family’s already tucked into the colcannon and I want to make sure they be leave a bit fer me. I hope ye find ya yer pot o’ gold at the end of a rainbow today, and if you do get down to the sewers to take a swig o’ everybody’s favorite Irish stout, make sure ye’ve got a designated scamperer to scuttle you home!
 
Keepin’ it squeaky green,
Bob