Monday, December 31, 2012

The Tail End of It

    
With a squeak we’ve reached the conclusion of 2012. Perhaps it’s because the human who translates my rat squeaks is back in college, but this year has been one of great learning for me. And if you will indulge me for a moment, I’d like to pass along some of the lessons I’ve gleaned:
That’s all for now; time to squeak pawdios to 2012. But don’t worry: even though we’ve reached the tail end of this year’s adventure, there’s no end in sight to Bob’s Blogs!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Monday, December 24, 2012

Naughty or Mice

 
Tick – tock – tick – tock … only hours to go until C-Day! (You know, “C” for Christmouse.) In the Rat hovel, my octuplet pups are making their last appeals to Santa Paws for inclusion in the Nice category of his “Naughty or Mice” list.
 
For days they’ve been trying to make up for a year’s worth of pawful behavior. Harry and Larry are hard at work repairing the drywall they gnawed through in my human family’s house, while Barry and Jerry are in the bathroom scrubbing their incisors and promising no cavities on their next trip to the rodentist. Mary, Sherry, and Kerry, whose favorite pastime is dressing their little sister, Terry, in dolls’ clothes, are quickly returning their rattention to their actual toys, and the tiniest octuplet, whose favorite pastime is chewing said doll clothing, is rapidly mending the holes.
 
And so we come to tonight, Christmouse Eve. They’ve stuffed themselves into their nestlets and are hoping to awake to pawkings stuffed with cheese crumbs. My wife, Bobette the Mouse, and I can only sit back and laugh at our hybrid rice offspring (because rice is what you get when rats marry mice); we understand that their high starch content contributes to those extreme energy levels.
 
Truth be squeaked, they’re nice rice far more often than not. Our little pups are one – make that eight – in a million, and even though they can be ratscals at times, Bobette and I wouldn’t trade them for all the cheese in the world. Nope; tonight I’ll leave my own letter of appeal to Father Christmouse letting him know how pawsome they are, and ask that the only one to get coal this year be the cat!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Spawtacus

  
Today has been a pretty rainy one here in Ratlanta. This is great for helping the unsqueakable drought we’re in (even the sewers are nearly bone-dry!). But the slick earth has brought with it just a little bit of slipping around, and more than just a little bit of mud.
 
The wet brown stuff has, however, conjured up a little nostalgia. You see, in my wilder days as a pup I was a mud wrestler! My stage name? Spawtacus, of course! Who better to channel than that great gladfleator of old in order to instill fear and trembling in the hearts of my oppawnents?!
 
I remember my greatest match ever, against Nero the Knockout. This mighty murine was as muscular as they make, because not only did the nickname “Knockout” describe his powerful paws, it also stood for the weakness gene he was missing from his DNA. (He started life as a genetically modified laboratory mouse.)
 
On the day Nero and I wrestled, the pit was pawticularly muddy because it had rained cats and dogs beforehand. (We had to wait a while until the cats left.) Nero came out swinging his mighty mousey paws, but I counteracted with my much longer tail. I thought he had me for a moment when he strong-pawed me to the edge of the mud pit, but when he rose up on his hind-claws to deliver the final blow, I took the pawportunity to wrap him in a bear – make that rat – hug and topple him to the ground. There were two things in that match that Nero didn’t count on: (1) I, too, was born in a lab, and got the knock-in extended life gene – which means I never squeak “die”; and (2) boxing is best reserved for bipedal creatures like humans, not top-heavy ones that scuttle on all fours.
 
My mud wrestling days are now done (in part due to the cheese belly I’ve amassed as I’ve aged), but I still look with fondness on the day I knocked the Knockout to the ground. And should Nero ever want a rematch, the undefleated Spawtacus is ready to give it to him … but in a different way: I’ll treat him to such a sweet mud pie cheesecake that we’ll be comrats for life!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Pawliteration Day

 
Today is 12/12/12, the last date with alliteration most of our rat-tastic eyes will see (unless you plan to be around next century, of course). All over the world people have plans for this unique day, from mass meditations to music concerts to weddings – and if you’re in this final category, forgetting your wedding date would just be downright pawful.
 
I have my own ratty plans for the day. First I plan to marvel at the repeating holes in some blocks of Swiss cheese. Then I’m off to study the rhythmic swirls that form when Colby meets Monterey Jack, and finally I’ll examine the marbling made by the moldy vein patterns in my favorite samples of bleu. Well, actually the final part will be eating my little cheese nubs … yum!
 
I hope your day of “pawliteration” is festive and fun-filled. It’s Wednesday, which means “Hump Day” for most of the working world, and many of us will be sunk deep into the patterns of our daily lives. But I hope you can stick your muzzle out for a moment and break the mold. And don’t worry: if you forget to get in on the fun, your next ratical date’s soon to come: 11/12/13, to be exact!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Fleacember

 
Holy hairballs! December is already here! Where’d the time go?
 
’Tis the time of year when temperatures drop and rats spend more time in their burrows, avoiding frigid ears and frozen whiskers. But I think someone forgot to squeak Old Man Winter to visit the southern United States: today’s high in Ratlanta, where I live, is a balmy 67°F!
 
Unfortunately that’s pretty paw for the course for this region of the country, which is why indigenous rodents refer to this month as Fleacember. Not all the fleas have died off since the weather hasn’t turned cold enough, and believe me, rats everywhere are itching to get those little buggers gone!
 
One rat-tastic thing about the month, though, is that with the coming of Christmouse I get to don (or is that Donner?) my Santa Paws duds! They’re this month’s fashion, no matter what the temp is outside.
 
Fleacember – and November, October, September, March, and February, for that matter – are months that invariably experience a roller-coaster ride in temperature fluctuations. So though it feels pawsome now, these moments will sadly be fleating. Soon enough Mr. Winter will get his message, and I’ll be freezing my little tail off. And as for Christmouse Day: with a hit-or-miss temperature bounce-back, it’s anybody’s guess as to weather we’ll be scampering about in shirt sleeves or fur coats!
 
In the meantime, I’ll keep my own seasonal suit right next to my fur, because with the magic that only Santa Paws can bring, he made sure the fabric will always be itch-inhibiting and flea-free!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob