Sunday, January 29, 2012
An ode to cheese I squeak to you now,
A poem that can’t be beat;
Without a doubt it’s tasty rat chow,
The best that we can eat.
Rats ’round the world all love to gnaw on
A slice of brie or Swiss,
Or hunks of cheddar and parmesan;
The taste is total bliss.
It might not be the cleanest of stuff,
It might have mold, like bleu;
Or smell like feet – that limburger’s rough,
It might make you go “phew!”
But gross or not, we love it the same,
We’ll chew it all day long;
With squeaks real loud we want to exclaim,
“With cheese, you can’t go wrong!”
For those who have a connoisseur’s nose
It truly is an art;
Wh’er praised in rhyme or written in prose
It melts into your heart.
Some say it ups obesity rates
Because it’s made with fat,
But I squeak “Hey, I’ll increase my weight,
’Cause I ain’t down with that!”
Your tongue and tummy want to consume
A piece of cheese delish;
You know they do, so spare yourself gloom,
And make yourself that dish!
Now eat right up, and gobble your fill,
It goes right down with ease;
I’ll squeak again, for it is my thrill:
Behold the power of cheese!
Saturday, January 21, 2012
As I’ve described in several past blogs, the weather here in Ratlanta is always unpredictable. This time last year we were locked in a vicious snow storm that paralyzed the city for more than a week, but today we’re experiencing treacherous precipitation of the liquid variety that more closely resembles the type of weather we generally see toward the end of spring!
Rainy conditions or not, a rat’s gotta eat. I left the hovel early this morning to see what kind of grub I could get my paws on when lo and behold a flash flood hit, and I was swept downstream in a torrent of water. It was all I could do to hold on for dear life! Despite the fact that because I’m made of rubber I float rather than sink, I was still scared that the crashing waves would pull me under. But thankfully, just when I’d given myself up for lost, a twig drifted by: a twig that, though small, was large enough for me to dig my claws into and float along. And because all streams in Ratlanta eventually empty into the sewers, I soon found myself under the manhole of my favorite food-loving fat rat pal Gus, who had plenty of vittles on paw from his recent dumpster dives to satiate the grumbly in my tumbly.
If you happen to be in Ratlanta today and get caught in a downstream flood, be careful, grab a twig to hold onto, and don’t worry: eventually you’ll get to Gus, and he’s got a load of moldy scraps on standby just waiting for your consumption.
Keepin’ it squeak,
Monday, January 16, 2012
Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, a.k.a. MLK Day, or, as us rodents like to call it, “Milk Day.” You humans celebrate the recognition of the equality of the races, which later led to equal-rights status between genders, and I think that’s pawsome. We in the rat world also have a celebration: equal-rights consumption between scarfing cheeses vs. the actual drinking of milk as a beverage.
Though it may surprise you – especially in light of the fact that rats generally gobble everything we can get our paws on, drinking milk was once outlawed because it was thought to result in higher incidences of constipation. But for rodents whose incisors were too small or too weak to nibble off chunks of hard cheeses, milk actually became a dietary staple. It was only 48 years ago, in fact, that the Rodent Food and Drug Administration ruled that milk could no longer be consumed after a pup had been weaned. It took the efforts of lesser-known species, like the African Pygmy Mouse, to claw back against the establishment and set liquid dairy on equal playing burrow as curdled, fermented, soft, and hard forms of the stuff. This certainly came in handy during the gas shortage you humans encountered in the ’70s when cheese transport by truckers slowed to a crawl. (It was at that time that rodents underwent a mass and temporary migration to dairy farms where they could be closer to the source.)
So while the days of the milkman leaving glistening white bottles on people’s doorsteps has gone by, thanks to the efforts of Pygmy Mice and others who refused to silent their squeaks in the face of tremendous opposition we rodents today have the right to slurp cow juice any time our little stomachs desire – that’s, of course, when we can slip by you humans and raid the fridge.
Keepin’ it squeak,
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Ah, the start of a new year. The time to brush off your whiskers, put aside the past, and charge full squeak ahead into what lays before you. Did you make any New Year’s resolutions? If so, have you followed through with them? (Me: well, I’ve yet to make that veterinarian’s appointment to get my pratstate checked. A little more procratstination can’t really hurt, right? Er, that’s what I squeak to myself, at least.)
New Year’s resolutions are tricky things. I’ve heard it squeaked that the end always marks a new beginning for those who choose to create one. Many of us start out with the best of intentions, only to fizzle out before February. Others, knowing this, reject making resolutions altogether, or do silly ones. (In my human family, Big Burly Pop’s favorite resolution is to drink Mountain Dew on a mountain. He usually succeeds.)
This year I too vow to put my best paw forward, so I’m going to get my claws buffed at the raticure shop down the sewer and have my wife Bobette give my fur a trim with her incisors. (Sharper than a barber’s shears!) My left front paw is usually the most handsome, so this year when I scuttle to and fro, I’ll be sure to lead with that one. I hope that you too find ways to put your best paw forward, whether it be through fulfilling those elusive resolutions or taking your own trip to the raticure shop down the sewer. Let’s make 2012 our best year yet, with the cleanest and best-looking paws out there!
Keepin’ it squeak,