Oh Thanksgiving, that most joyous day when we gather ’round a roasted bird, commune with the family members that get in our fur, and express gratitude for our many blessings. (I’m still thankful from past pawlidays that I’m not the copy of Golf Magazine Uncle George likes to enjoy during his annual post-turkey trip to the loo!)
We in the Rat hovel have much to be thankful for this year. The pups are excelling in school; all eight are earning straight R’s (you know, R for rodent). This year they took up a new subject: Ratin. Consequently, they’ve gone from calling me “Paw-Paw” to “Rattus,” my species’ scientific name. (Squeaky – er, cheeky – little critters.) Meanwhile, the love continues to compound daily between my wife, Bobette, and me. I can also thank the extended-life gene she and I both received in our days as lab animals, and its subsequent transmission to our octuplet offspring. Due to it I know we can look forward to many more Thanksgivings together, in spite of the fact that the process of “looking” itself is difficult for poor-sighted rodents. (We tend to rely on our sense of smell.)
Squeaking – ahem, speaking – of smell, I catch the waft of a turkey feast coming down the hall now! We’ll be dining (invited or not! though we always are) with my human family. And they can have their gobbler; I’ve already smelled what I want: can anyone squeak, “Cheesecake”?
Keepin’ it squeak,