Rat Snake

 
Oh, it’s unsqueakable! what’s taken up residence in my humans’ house lately! It glares at me through beady black eyes, barring my way from the kitchen, and it’s all I can do not to hide under my nestlet all day!
 
It’s not enough that they set out mousetraps to catch me. Not enough that they once tried to roast me over an open fire. No! They have to add insult to injury by bring home that – that rat snake!
 
Sure, you think it’s cute. Staring up at you with its plush pink-and-yellow head, its fuzzy little tail. Well, it mocks me from behind your back, the tag along its spine doing little to slow its speed as it slithers toward me.
 
How I long for the day the dog comes; he’ll attack his new chew toy with the ferocity of a raging Bubonic Plague! Then, when that rat snake is ratted and drenched in dog drool, I’ll emerge again from my nestlet, avoiding the mousetraps and the fire pit, and sneak back to the kitchen – where a fridge full of cheese awaits me!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Pirat

 
Ahoy mateys, Buccaneer Bob here! ’Tis be International Talk Like a Pirate Day – make that International Squeak Like a Pirat Day, and rats everywhere be markin’ the occasion (an’ sometimes their territory) by loudly squeakin’ our favorite letter: Arrr! (You know, Arrr = R, for Rat.)
 
We rodents have a long history o’ farin’ the fair seas, though the seas do be dark, ’cause they’re in the sewers. Things can get particularly pawful when the weather be a-brewin’, which happens when the city above has a gully-washer o’ rain an’ it rushes down the grates. When the seas – er, sewer waters – be rough, it’s all paws on deck until the hatches be battened down. And dare not a crewrat fall into the drink, because as you know, dead rats squeak no tails!
 
Squeak Like a Pirat Day be pawsitively piratical, if you ask me, and though remembrin’ some o’ our pirats’ scurvy past be shiv’rin’ me whiskers, it’s easy sailin’ these days. So hoist the sails, mates, and full scuttle ahead!
 
Fair winds to ye,
Bob

Rodentical Cousins

 
Having family over is always a blast for us in the Rat hovel. This week my cousin, Rob, dropped by, and while we did have a pawsome visit, there emerged a bit of a problem: apparently it’s hard to tell the difference between the two of us.
 
It’s not the first time we’ve been squeaked that. Though we hail from separate litters, we do share a birthday. We were also born in a laboratory from an inbred rat strain, so most of our relatives are nearly rodentical.
 
It seems as though my cousin and I share particular similarity, which might be why we were named Bob and Rob. We once had a guest appearance on The Patty Duke Show in which Rob was calm Cathy’s pet and I belonged to the more ratical Patty; it seems I’ve got a bit of a wild streak in me. I still maintain the differences between us, though; after all, he has whiskers and I’m clean-shaven!
 
But whether people see us as the same or not, he and I still have a rat-tastic flealationship. So “paws up,” I squeak, to Bob the Rat and Rob the Rat, the most rodentical cousins of all!
 
Keepinʼ it squeak,
Bob

Easy Cheesy

 
Labor Day weekend has arrived, that one last hurrah of summer when we pull out the barbeque grills in earnest, practice our final swan dives of the season, and – goodie – use the last of that sticky, icky mosquito spray.
 
This holiday was created specifically so that we might take a rest from our work, and I have my own plans for letting my fur hang loose this weekend. For one thing, I’ll forgo styling it in my typical rat-tail. (From what I’ve been squeaked, rat-tails and mullets went out of style about 68 rodent generations ago, anyway.) For another, I’ll grant myself a break from my daily run on the hamster wheel, and instead use that time to take a much-desired rat nap. (I can feel that comfy nestlet cushion now.)
 
Besides resting, some use the pawliday as a time to play. In fact, Ratlanta, Georgia, the city I call “hovel,” is hosting a multitude of events this weekend, from the NASCAR race at Ratlanta Motor Speedway in Hampton to Dragon*Con in the heart of downtown itself. (I hope the Ratman comics are well represented.) All of this activity is squeaktacious, but for me, the best thing to do on this Labor Day weekend is anything but.
 
So whether your pawliday calls for fun or forty winks, I hope yours is the best, paws down. Just do me one teensy favor while you’re hamming it up: make sure that isn’t Rack of Rat you’re slapping on the ’Que!
 
Keepinʼ it chill – er, squeak,
Bob