Squeak Goodbye to the Old

 
Wow, can you flealieve it? We’ve come to the end of another year already! I’m super excited because, in keeping with tradition, I get to take you through all of this year’s blogs.
  

In the Rat hovel, the year started off quite sweet. The pups did well in school and even learned a new subject or two, and with such a beautiful spring we spent a lot of the early months outside. A very soggy summer drove us all to indoor fursuits, like playing video games and sniffing around Muzzlebook online. I unfurtunately was taken away from my hovel for a time in pawtumn, leaving me a very lonely rat indeed.
 
But 2013 was a rat-tastic year too, despite those difficulties. Bob’s Blogs celebrated a great milestone with the posting of my 100th blog! We also observed the most hallowed of all rodent pawlidays with National Cheese Lover’s Day in January.
 
Through it all – pawhaps more so through adfursity – I learned some important lessons: Sometimes life makes us uncomfortable and rakes us over the coals, but it’s when we’re put through trials that we find we really grow. We’re not outcast as long as we’re surrounded by those who truly love us. And even when others lie to us, in the end right will prevail.
 
I hope that 2013 was a time of goodness for you, and that 2014 will be even more so. May you always feel welcome, may your days be bright, and know that in the new year Bob’s Blogs will keep you laughing.
 
Rat-tastic wishes for a pawsome new year,

Bob

Christmouse Truths

 
Merry Christmouse, everyone!
 
This special blog is going to break with tradition: instead of enraturing you in my rodent realm, I want to dedicate this one to my real-life family. The ones who know me not as the persona of “Bob the Rat,” but as just Bob. And on occasion, Bobby.
 
I’ve occasionally mentioned my human family; here you can know them better. Big Burly Pop is better known as dad Hobie, and yes, he really did suspend me over a boiling pot on a campfire once. Mom Betsy is as sweet as the cheesecake she leaves for Santa Paws every year. And the twins, Sabrina and Sandra – well, that’s where my story started.
 
I was originally a gag gift between Sabrina and her best friend. In 2004, with the help of said best friend, I found my way into Sabrina’s bed covers one Halloween night. One blood-curdling scream later, I was a member of the family! The twins got a riot out of me, and when Sandra moved out-of-state a year later I eventually went too, as a welcome reminder of home.
 
In 2010, with her feet firmly planted back in “Ratlanta,” Sandra launched this blog to showcase her writing skills and begin a new career in writing and editing. (Although you and I know that I do squeak her what to write about.) The blog has been a success, her career has been a success, and both are going strong.
 
On this special day, as we celebrate the birth of Christ Jesus and the truth of Heaven He revealed to us, I encourage you to take stock of what’s true too. Pawception – ahem, perception – is not always reality, and sometimes, in midst of our hectic lives, our focus drifts to things that are less important. As I have enjoyed sharing my life with you – the real and the make-flealieve – please take joy in the ones you love and who love you. I encourage you to put one another first, because on this pawliday and always that’s what truly matters.
 
From my family to yours, Merry Christmouse.
  

Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob
 
P.S. If you want to know more about my real beginnings, sniff out the second, third, and fourth blogs I posted, way back in 2010 when I was still learning how to blog!

Chocolate Mouse

Yesterday my human got together with some friends for a fun girls’ day. And as it’s Christmousetime, they decided to do something everyone loves this time of year: make treats!
 
They favored one particular food: chocolate. There were white chocolate-dipped Nutter Butters decorated like snowmen, and frosted sugar cookies with shiny sprinkles — plus chocolate on the side. They had chocolate-peanut butter-oatmeal cookies. They dunked pretzel sticks into chocolate, and then some crackers too. And to top it all off they made peanut butter sandwiches with the crackers and — you guessed it — dipped them in chocolate!
 
My human brought some home to share, which is pawsome. But in their treat-making festivity, I noticed they left out one very important dish: chocolate swirl cheesecake, topped with chocolate mouse — er, mousse!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

A Rodential Thanksgivukkah

 
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and happy Hanukkah too!
 
This year the two holidays fall on the same day, a sight not seen by rats or humans since 1888 and one that won’t be seen again for more than 79,000 years! (I wonder if rodents will have super-sonic sniffers by then.)
 
My mousey wife Bobette and I have been enjoying the pawliday with family and friends. While our human family didn’t feel quite bold enough to let us scurry on the table, they did put down a whole plate-full of heaping Thanksgiving helpings, with potato pancake latkes and extra mac n’ cheese – how mice! Er, nice. The pups have had fun spinning on top of the toy dreidel, and we’ve even had visits from my friends, Gus and Slim. Health-obsessed Slim happily laid aside his healthy eating habits for the day and clawed into whatever he could find – in fact, you can still see his incisor marks in the cheesecake. And Gus, who has an affinity for foul foods, was gracious enough to curb his disgusting diet for one meal.
 
And so we now sit – or lounge, rather – happily digesting a wonderful Thanksgivukkah meal. (Even the pups have given the dreidel a rest.) I now have time to reflect, so in honor of the converging holidays here’s my Hanukkah-themed thankful Thanksgiving list:
 

1. That Jews consider rat meat unclean and therefore unfit for consumption.
2. That the humans, a Christian family, follow their Jewish roots in that aspect!
3. That cheesecake was once again on the dessert menu.
4. That the pups didn’t toss their cheese balls while spinning on that dreidel top.
5. That Slim, who is Jewish, always helps us keep things kosher. (And by that, I mean pawsome.)
6. That the family cat has had more of an interest in his cardboard box than in scurrying rodents today.
7. That yarmulkes make great nesting places.
8. That the gelts, Hanukkah’s traditional gifts of money, are given in cheese crumbs.
9. That Adam Sandler’s Hanukkah Song keeps everyone squeaking – er, laughing.
10. That this Festival of Lights keeps things bright, and reminds us to be thankful for our Creator, our Savior, and each other.

 
Thankfully keepin’ it glowing,
Bob

Energizer Rattit

 
Whew! Sometimes life can be exhausting. All the scuttling about can really wear a rat down. Recently I decided to do some experimentation to see if I might pep myself up, so to squeak – er, speak. After all, I’m not too far removed from my days in the laboratory, and experimentation is what lab rats do best, right?
 
One tired evening I scuttled to the grocery store and sneaked into the stock room. First I found the energy drinks, then washed down some caffeine pills with Mountain Dew. Then I found the pièce de résistance – coffee, of course – and just bit right into the grounds. Sure, it tasted awful, but haven’t you heard what diets rats have? We eat some pretty foul garbage! (Literally.) And besides, I followed it up (rather quickly) with some chocolate-dipped cheese cubes. Yum. (Hey, don’t knock it till you try it!) And don’t worry, before leaving the store I paid for everything: I dropped some cheese crumbs into the register when the cashier wasn’t looking. I hope they take “Swiss” currency. (Get it?)
 
Needless to say that by the time I scuttled out, my scuttler was scuttlin’ faster than Speedy Gonzales! Forget Hickory Dickory Dock – I’m the one who could set a land-speed record racing up that clock! And just like that bunny who sells batteries – you know the one – I just kept going and going and going and going. (Only I was like a lifleaum battery. Get that one?) I had more energy than my starch-filled octuplet rice offspring (which is what you get when rats marry mice) and my longsuffering wife, Bobette the Mouse, finally put her paw down.
 
She needn’t have bothered, though, because in just a few hours I got the worst caffeine crash imaginable. I felt like Mighty Mouse had suddenly lost his ability to fly, and fell from the stratosphere to smack the canyon floor in a comedic puff of smoke. Belly pains, irritability, muzzle aches – I had it all. And the rebound insomnia … unflealievable! I didn’t sleep for eight days!
 
Needless to say, this little experimentation ended in flea-bitten failure. From now on I’ll try to take more rat naps during the day, and sure as anything I’m sticking to decaf!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Home Sweet Hovel

For the past several weeks I’ve been a rat on the move, which you might have noticed from my pawcity of blog posts. In fact, this whole pawtumn has been quite busy for both me and the human who translates my rat squeaks into English! While some may think I’ve been procratstinating with the blog, I’ve really just been a ragged rat. Furtunately my travels have ceased for a while, and I’ve returned to the place I love best: my hovel.

My hovel, with my magnifleacent mousey wife, Bobette; my hovel, with our rambunctious rats + mice = rice hybrid octuplets (I’ve even missed their boundless energy, courtesy of all that starch); and, of course, my hovel with my human family. (Every now and then I can nuzzle in a snuggle.) Even Ratlanta, with its fleaspicable traffic, is a welcome sight to my beady red eyes! (Besides, I know a lot of shortcuts through the sewer pipes and can get around pretty well!)

So while I do enjoy traveling, I think I’ll make my paws stay put for a spell. Time to spend time with the fam, catch up on my cheese eating, and scratch out some writing. I hope to see you in the weeks to come, for you are always welcome in my home sweet hovel.

Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Paw Bunion

 
Recently my usually peppy scuttle has slowed to a crawl, all due to an unwelcome bunion on my paw. And like the tail – er, tale – of your oversized Paul Bunyan, my paw bunion has appeared quite massive to me! Nothing sits a rat on its rump quite like a painful paw.
 
I grinned and bore it – with the cheesiest of grins, of course – until my “bore” could take no more. I limped and hopped around like a kangaroo rat and was content to let that continue, because it is well known that I do not like veterinarians! Then one day last week, those hops got the pawtention of my human family’s cat, and I escaped being clutched in his claws by the skin of my incisors! Whew!
 
I’m now back from a visit to the pawdiatrist, hoping the in-office pawcedure she did will be enough to keep my paw bunion at bay. Because unlike the tall tale of your good-natured lumberjack, there’s nothing good about this little pain in my tail!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

A-B-C’s and 1-2-Fleas

 
By now, where I live most pups are back in school, or will return this week. Getting my own octuplets back into the rhythm of another ratcademic season wasn’t easy – it seems they’re no less eager to study Ratin now than they were this time last year. My wife, Bobette the Mouse, has begun the unenviable daily battle that is getting them out of the nestlet and their whiskers well groomed on time. And with all their energy pent up in starch molecules, it’s no wonder that our rats + mice = rice hybrid offspring consider fleacess their favorite school activity!
 
Pressing the importance of the three R’s – that’s Ratty, Rodent, and Roquefort, of course – onto the willful minds of my little ones is indeed a tall order for a short rat like me! I squeak them that I certainly don’t expect them to have their muzzles in a book all the time, nor do I expect them to be the voledictorian of their class. But as long as they give good effort and end up pawductive citizens of society, they’ll always be cheese whizzes to me.
 
If your own pups are starting back to school soon, you have my sympafleas! Do know that, all too soon, these days of A-B-C’s and 1-2-Fleas will come to an end, and you’ll have your own cheese whizzes on your paws. So until next year’s summer months scuttle in, squeak your pups to keep their teeth to the cheese wheel, and make sure their muzzles get stuck in those books at least pawcasionally!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

Cheesy Jokes 2

As you well know by now, I am one cheesy rat. So in case you didn’t get enough from last time, here are more cheesy jokes to tickle your punny bone!
 
Why don’t rats like going to the coast in late August? It’s furricane season.
 
What’s a rodent’s favorite dessert? Mice cream!
 
Why did they consider the mouse a connoisseur of cheese? He was a real curd nerd.
 
Why did the rat love cheesecake so much? He had a sweet incisor.
 
Why did the rodent have such a good night on the town? He had Raturday Night Fever.
 
Why was the rat such a whiz at card games? It was impossible to read his pawker face.
 
How did the rodent avoid time in the pawnitentiary? He made a quick fleascape.
 
What do you call a pup who won’t stop telling on others? A rattle-tale.
 
Why did the mouse want to meet the famous actress? He wanted her pawtograph.
 
What is Shakespaw’s most famous quote? To brie or not to brie.
 
Why couldn’t the rodent divulge what he knew? He was sworn to squeakrecy.
 
Who was the mightiest mythological Greek flearo? Furcules!
 
What do you call hopelessly ruffled fur? A fashion fleamergency.
 
How do you thank a Hispanic rat? Say, “Gratcias!”
 
How can you keep each day interesting? Remember that variety is the mice of life!
 
Until the next round of cheesy jokes comes to tickle that punny bone of yours, keep it tuned to Bob’s Blogs for flea-bitten funnies in poetry and prose!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

Mushrat

 
Anyone living in the southeastern United States can tell you that this has been one of the wettest summers on record. With all the rain falling, it’s no wonder we all find ourselves wet behind the ears and constantly grooming to keep our whiskers dry.
 
All summer long I’ve been scuttling around, watching mushrooms pop up in my human family’s yard. By now I’ve seen just about every variety: puffballs, gilled, stinkhorns … the latter whose foul smell reminds me of my pungent cousins, the muskrats.
 
What I’ve yet to see, however, are button mushrooms, truffles, and portabellas – you know, the kind you see on pizzas! Cheesy pizzas. I’m not into psychfleadelics, so what good is a mushroom to me if I can’t eat it?
 
Heaven knows we’ve had more than our fair share of rain this year, but until those puffballs turn into cheese puffballs, I’ll continue to welcome nature’s showers on the yard.
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

Scratch n’ Sniff

   
The summer months have arrived at last! With it comes sunshine, scuttles to the beach, and no shortage of scraps left from humans’ backyard barbeques. Unfurtunately, summer also brings the itch. In several past blogs I’ve mentioned my disdain of fleas and mosquitos, so this year I decided to search in earnest for a pest control solution. (No, I don’t mean a solution to myself! How could you even think that rats are pests? Holy hairballs!)
 
First I tried the vinegar bath suggested by a Google search. I made the mistake of doing so while my human family was cooking dinner. Big Burly Pop knocked over the dill weed by mistake, and I ended up smelling like pickled rodent. Repulsive to fleas and mosquitos for sure, but also to me. After all, I like eating food, not smelling like food!
  

Next I tried that solar-powered ultrasonic pest-repellant device. I don’t know about the fleas or mosquitos, but it rattled my incisors so much that I knew I’d be visiting the rodentist faster than Speedy Gonzales can squeak “Andale!” if I kept it around! So that method got tossed out of the burrow.
 
After that I yanked one of those super-fine-toothed combs through my fur to pull the little guys out. I don’t think I removed any bugs, but I did end up looking like the rodent version of Tina Turner!
 
Then one of my hippie hamster friends recommended some essential oils. He blended me a batch of peppermint, thyme, and basil oils and stirred it like he was caught in a hamster wheel. Everything seemed to be going fine until the end, when instead of infusing the mix with three drops of tea tree oil, he grabbed the tea flea oil by mistake. I left there attracting the buggers like Santa Claus to a candy cane! (And smelling like a candy cane, too!)
 
Finally I pulled out all the stops and raided my human family’s stash. I got the citronella candle bucket, the skin-moisturizing bug spray, and even the insect repellent with the forbidden chemical DEET. I was so desperate that I even overcame my terror of the picture of the cat on the box and broke into the family feline’s flea medicine. (Besides, if he’s busy scratching, he won’t be able to chase me, right?) And just in case those evil critters got through, I decided to head itches off at the pass: I’ve got Benadryl, hydrocortisone, and calamine on standby.
 
So here I sit, covered from muzzle to tail in I don’t even know what! All this gook is rather scratchy, and one whiff by my sniffer tells me that I’m probably a repugnant rodent right now. Do I think this will repel the nasties? When guinea pigs fly! I think I’ll just have to make do with a back scratcher this summer!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Truth in Ratvertising

 
I’ve become convinced that Blogspot is trying to kill me!
 
On the upper right and bottom left corners of my blog page, Blogspot hosts banner advertisements. And Blogspot, like many Web services, is smart: it selects ads based on keywords that come up throughout the blog. Most of the time, this is a good thing: bloggers and their readers pawstensibly might indeed like to see advertising targeted to what they’re scratching about.
 
In this case, however, things have backfired. For some odd reason, Blogspot assumes Bob’s Blogs readership consists of humans only, and that – oh, it’s unsqueakable! – all humans think rodents are vermin! What else could explain the “Mouse Prevention Tips” and “Kill Your Roof Rats” ads I so often see when my beady red eye drifts around the page? Or perhaps worst of all, ads for cat treats! It’s prepawsterous!
 
Although rats have generally poor eyesight, even I can see that Blogspot’s keyword search does not consider context. But every now and then I’ll get a little treat of my own, and look down and see, to my whiskery delight, an ad for cheese. There’s definitely truth in that ratvertising!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Like My Rattus

 
You probably know about Facebook, the most popular social networking Website on the planet. In previous blogs you may have heard me mention Muzzlebook, which we rodents prefer. It’s a great way to procratstinate, keep up with our 150 offspring, and squeak about what’s eating us, like fleas.
 
A pawpular trend for human Facebook users, especially among teens, is something called “Like My Status.” In the status bar, the person writes something along the lines of “Like my status and I will [fill in the blank].” Friends then click the individual’s “Like” button to like the status, and pawstensibly the person does whatever the status action says.
 
This craze has caught on among our adolescent rodent population with a variant called “Like My Rattus.” Here are some pawpular Like My Rattus sayings:
 
Like My Rattus and I will …
… tell you what I think of you as: my comrat, oppawnent, or BRF (best rat forever).
… tell you how hot you are, or if you should grow a fur coat.
… give you a random nickname. (Flea-bitten is not off the table.)
… tell you your best feature: muzzle or tail.
… tell you whether you’ll be the richest rat in town or as poor as a church mouse when you grow up.
… tell you whether I’ll give you chewelry or cheese crumbs for your next birthday.
… tell you if I think you’re a country mouse or a street rat.
… tell you whether you’re a flearo or a rat fink.
… tell you if you make me melt in your paws, like cheese fondue.
… tell you whether you’re strong, like Stilton, or mild, like mozzarella.
 
As you can see, our teens are a bit rambunctious; in the throes of their raging hormones, they don’t always keep the nice-mice etiquette they were raised with. Thankfully I’m a bit beyond those angst-filled adolescent days, but I still like to keep it squeak with Muzzlebook status updates. So although I won’t tell you we should go dumpster diving or that you remind me of Chuck E. Cheese if you Like My Rattus, please sniff around my Muzzlebook page and give me a “Like” anyway at www.facebook.com/bobtherat!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Barbeque Bob

 
A fine three-day weekend, alas, we’ve come to
One in which many will break out barbeque.
And how can they not, with weather so grand?
To do otherwise, nobody can stand.
 
A bright sunny day, not too hot or too chill
Humans bring forth the sauce and crank up the grill,
And quick, like a flash, they dash to the store
To procure lots of meat, as they are carnivores.
 
Now this is when rats give their whiskers a shake,
For not every man will stick with a steak.
Some humans like to get bold with their meat;
There’re no limits to what these people won’t eat.
 
Skipping hot dogs, ’qued chicken, spare ribs, and the like
They choose ostrich and gator and frogs’ legs and tripe,
But the thing most of all that I fear’s on their list
Is one I so wish they would cease and desist!
 
I’m sure you can guess what I fear they desire:
It’s rat meat, of course, they plan to set on fire.
And so days like these ones I scatter for cover
And hide in my nestlet to remain undiscovered.
 
So on days like today with weather so grand
And you sit by the grill with your tongs well in hand,
I do hope my rhyme hasn’t been all for naught;
Please don’t choose to cook bratsket or furgers or brats!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

Green Claw

 

Finally, a fine May weekend has come to Ratlanta, and my human family has taken the opportunity to plant their garden. They dug up the dandelions and exchanged them for cucumbers, traded tree roots for tomatoes and kicked out crabgrass for some basil. And because they dare to take on the sweltering summer sun, they laid down some spicy habanero and jalapeño peppers.

I love it when the garden comes into season. Not only does it signal no more frosts to freeze my tail off, it also means I don’t have to scuttle to the grocery store to get fresh produce. (I’ll take it out of a dumpster if I have to, but I do prefer food without the funk.) I was happy to lend a helping paw too. Taking a tip from my dirt-digging cousins, I made like a mole and scratched through the soil, holding the dirt aside with my tail so they could lay the plants in.

This year they put down a black weed barrier, hoping to keep out competition from undesirables. I just hope it doesn’t prevent the taking root of milkweed. Don’t you know? That’s where herb cheese comes from!

Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Rat Burglar

 
Being a rat, I’ve come across some shady characters in my day. Thankfully I’ve steered clear of a life of grime, but unfortunately law-breaking isn’t just a human problem. We of course have our drug dealers, who push ratnip like it’s cheesecake; the ’hood rats, whose favorite (and very dangerous) game to play is Shoots and Ratters; and the snitching ratfinks, who are the most hated of all.
 
Probably the most common crime in the rodent community is theft. It traverses all classes of society, from poverty-stricken street rats to high-on-the-groundhog aristocrats. You humans may have seen animals steal each other’s food on nature shows. (Apparently they didn’t learn their “nice mice” etiquette as pups!) The thing most coveted among these rat burglars: cheese crumbs, which is the rodent form of currency.
 
Rat burglars, however, should go on high alert, because sooner or later their life of grime will ensnare them in a mousetrap, and they’ll be hearing the pawlice squeak, “Put up your paws!” And what with the ensuing clawsuits and fleadiculous rattorneys’ fees, they’ll soon find out that their stolen cheese crumbs won’t bail them out, and that grime doesn’t pay.
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

Julius Cheeser

 
Today is the Ides of March, an important day in ancient rodent history. This day marks the death of one of the most famous authoratarians of all time, Julius Cheeser.
 
Known for his conquest of the Roman Republic, establishment of the Roman Empire, and introducing Romano cheese to the masses, Cheeser initially shared Roman rule with two fellow senrators, Cratsus and Pawmpey, in the empire’s first Triumvirat.
 
But unfurtunately Cheeser was no stranger to making others mad. He wasn’t exactly burrow broken (if you catch my drift) and had many more offspring than a monogamous rat like me would bear. He also had a pawful skirmish with pirats as a pup. It didn’t end well for the scalawags, though, because Cheeser made sure that dead rats squeak no tails. Eventually he incurred the wrath of the aratstocracy when he fashioned himself Rome’s autocrat.
 
Thus Cheeser was scuttling along like nice mice until 44 B.C. today, when conspirator Brutus and some fellow Roman senrators sent Cheeser to the great burrow in the sky. (With a blade he was betrayed when Brutus cut the cheese.)
 
Now, in addition to their A-B-Cs and 1-2-fleas, rat pups have this historical figure to learn about in their ratcademics. But when school recesses in the hot days of summer they become thankful for one last culinary contribution of Cheeser’s: you see, the orange in Orange Julius is really for cheese.
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

Fun Hundred Blogs

 
Today’s blog marks a milestone for me: Bob’s Blogs hits the 100 mark. And a fun 100 it has been! Hard to believe that 100 blogs ago I thought “blog” referred to a black canine that hates cats. Now I can rival a computer mouse for my Internet savvy!
 
So in honor of the special number, this blog contains only 100 words – make that 100 “squeaks.” Rest assured that whether in poetry, prose, or pawliteration, my squeaks will always be spunky and hard to silent! A cheese toast (like the kind my mom used to make) to the next 100+!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

All the Single Ratties

 
Volentine’s Day. The one day a year when everyone seems to be in a pair bond. It doesn’t matter which corner of the sewer you scuttle to: you find yourself crouched there, just minding your own fleas-wax, while the two rats beside you keep nuzzling each other in an inappropriate PDP: public display of pawfection. All you want to do is squeak them to get a burrow.
 
It’s no secret that rats spend a lot of time coupled up. It’s also no secret that there are a lot of us out there, with just one female sewer rat capable of having as many as 150 offspring in her lifetime. By sheer numbers alone, one would assume that every rat must be bound to hook up, right?
 
Shrew that, I squeak! It’s those that scuttle solo who really get to have fun. Wanna eat in bed? There’s no one complaining about the crumbs you left in the nestlet. Care to squeak at the top of your lungs while grooming? You’ve got no mate squeaking that you’re waking the pups. No one to question why you’ve come home with the scent of another rat on you, no one to inhibit you from taking a spur-of-the-moment trip to a sewer out of town, no one to criticize your shameless cheese crumb shopping spree. No, my comrat, you have FLEADOM!!!
 
So bucks, embrace your ratchelorhood, and dames, stay true to you. Be proud to post your Muzzlebook flealationship status as single, don’t pay any rattention to FleaHarmony.com, and carpé fleaem living pawtonymously. Put your paws up, all you single ratties, because on this day fleaspecially, you don’t have to worry about buying over-priced cheese balls for your lover!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob
 
(Hey, scratch through Solo and Satisfied, written by the human who translates my rat squeaks into English, in the February 2013 issue of StudentHealth101! She appreciates all the single ratties – and the single humans, too!)

Spelling Flea

 
“Siphonaptera.” Yeah, easy for you to squeak!
 
Spelling out the scientific word for flea, and terms like it, came easier to some more than others in the 54th-annual Squeaks National Spelling Flea, which wrapped up today. More than 5,000 rat pups from all fifty states converged on Washington, D. Flea for the occasion, bringing substantial shrieks of terror from the pawliticians on Capivole Hill. (But since most consider pawliticians to be dirty rats anyway, it was rather fleadiculous of them to raise a ruckus!)
 
True to the Spelling Flea’s biting nature, competitors were bitten repeatedly as rat after rat was culled, as if by the Pied Piper, through nine claw-biting rounds. Contenders generally performed well at squeaking the spellings of cheeses (even ones as obscure as Roquefort), but when it came to words like rodentition, and other terms pertaining to one’s uber-important incisors, many contestants were mouthwashed out. (Hmm … looks like someone will need to floss!)
 
In a contest where it’s adamant to be accurat, any ratcademic can tell you that competing is not as easy as A-B-C and 1-2-flea. No, true victors need to jump out just like the Flea they’re here to spell at. For example, just like many of you human spelling champs must be able to spell “onomatopoeia,” describing a word that sounds like what it represents, so too our champions must relay “onomatofloeia,” describing a word that bites like what it represents.
 
And so it happened: in the final round young Ratticus Smart from Boca Raton, Florida scratched the Spelling Flea into submission by correctly spelling N,N-Diethyl-meta-toluamide, or as you may know it, DEET, the active ingredient in most insect repellants (including flea medicines!). So congratulations to him – and to all of the Spelling Flea competitors – for learning early on a concept we’d all do well to grasp: in life, there is no spellchecker!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

High on the ’Hog

  
Alas, it’s here: the most famous of all rodent pawlidays, when even you humans pay homage to the greatness of our portion of the animal kingdom. Of course I’m squeaking – er, speaking – of Groundhog Day, when everyone looks to the groundhog to see if we’ll soon feel the sun kisses of spring or be locked in six more frozen weeks of winter.
 
As is widely known, Pennsylvania’s Punxsutawney Phil is the most famous weather predictor (a Prognosticator of prognosticators, as it were), but there are other groundhogs around the world that help Phil shoulder his weather-predicting burden. One of these lesser-known rodents is Phil’s twin brother, Bunxsutawney Bill. Some look at Bill with suspicion – perhaps it’s because most everyone looks at bills with suspicion – but I think Bill may be brushed aside because, in contrast to his groundhog brother, he is a woodchuck. Eh, sometimes the genes fall that way.
 
Bill, however, gives us great relief, because his talent is prognosticating the end of summer and a return to fall’s cool temperatures. Of course, summer is great – days spent lounging by the pools of water in the sewer and chomping cheesecake bites to beat the heat – but when the mercury rises as high as it did last year I’m ready to see October! So don’t woodchuck his talents away!
 
Perhaps one more thing should be squeaked – er, said: woodchucks and groundhogs are the same critter. It’s true! (As a fellow rodent, take my squeak for it.) I have it on good pawthority that Bill and Phil met in squeakrecy last night to plan their prognostication proclamation. Disseminated by computer mice early this morning, here it is for rodent and human alike:
 

Like weather, like life: not everything’s straight,
Not easy to know or anticipate.
But just as appearances aren’t always as seemed
Good things can come wrapped in ways you’ve not dreamed.
And so to ye faithful, from Phil and from Bill,
We foresee good temps, not roasting or chill
But keep you together, stay close at all times
And weather life in all sorts of its climes.

 
Happy Groundhog/Woodchuck Day,

Bob

Hood Rat

 
As any of you humans who have ever seen a rat or mouse scuttle across a room know, we rodents have a need for speed. So it was to the delight of the entire rodent community when the rat rod phenomenon became pawpular several years back. These bare-bones, street-ready, not-so-hot rods, which can only be described as ratted out inside and out, are perfect for habitation by critters who live in less than sanitary conditions. Plus, the bite marks and occasional droppings we leave behind on the upholstery only add to the rat rod’s ambiance.
 
For months now I’ve been working on a rat of my own – in miniature, of course. By and large it has come together quite micely – er, nicely. Putting the tires on was no problem since, being made of rubber myself, I’m a kindred spirit to the Goodyear, and once or twice I could have sworn I heard an ancestor squeak me a greeting from the great beyond. Installing the ratiator wasn’t a problem either – I am, after all, adept at keeping cool in any heated situation. That catalytic converter, however, was a nightmare – the cat kept clawing at me!
 
Last night I put the final bolt into place and christened my ride Rattitude. Soon she’ll get her test, because just as you humans have your rat race, we rodents have ours. Every Raturday night rodents across the country take to the sewers to drag race our small-scale rat rods (“ratties” we call them). Next week Rattitude and I have a showdown with the fastest rats in Ratlanta in the pipeline under 14th Street.
 
My competition will be fierce, but I have a secret weapon: Gus, my flatulent best friend, is riding along. As soon as we cross the pipes under West Peachtree Gus is going to hit the gas – literally. That blast of noxious oxide is certain to blow the competition away! (But don’t worry about him blowing a hole in the roadway above: Gus’s backside emissions are street-legal.)
 
There’s no doubt that we three have a long rat-race career ahead of us, and that by the end of it my rodentist will have grown tired of picking bugs out of my incisors. But I’m excited: with an attitude of Rattitude and my comrat Gus, I can give even Speedy Gonzalez a run for his cheese crumbs!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

For the Love of Cheese!

 
America celebrates so many wonderful pawlidays: Infleapendence Day, Groundhog Day, and of course Christmouse. But by far the best, in my humble ratty opinion, is today: National Cheese Lover’s Day.
 
Just think: 24 whole hours dedicated to the adoration of cheese, glorious cheese! As we squeak, cheese-tasting parties are happening across the country, people everywhere enjoying any of the 900+ cheeses made worldwide. I have a mind to sneak a nibble of each type today while the humans aren’t looking. But with so many, I might need a little more time to sample them all … oh, rats. (Not!)
 
What’s not to love about cheese? Everything’s to love about cheese! What better way is there to enjoy a pot of fondue but with cheese? And would it taste as good if you topped your pizza with tomato sauce alone? What keeps the chicken happy in its quesadilla except the gooey bliss it’s swimming in? And who puts the “Mac Daddy” in everyone’s favorite macaroni dish but cheese? And hey, let’s give appreciation to the slices we consume straight up – like my naked mole rat friends squeak, there’s nothing better than going in-the-buff.
 
Sure, doc-rats blame its high fat content for the rising epidemic of cheese bellies and its tendency to cause “internal backups” (if you know what I mean), but cheese is also credited with strengthening the enamel of our incisors and helping lull us into rat naps.
 
So on this special pawliday, Carpe Cheesem: Seize the Cheese, and don’t wine about it tomorrow – the constipation is worth it for a day!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob

Cat-and-Mouse Game

 
Right now is a hot time for video game release in the human world. You might be surprised to know that, despite our poor eyesight, video games are very pawpular in the rat realm too! This year’s trendy titles include Becheweled, Guitar Flearo, and The Fast and the Furriest.
 
By far, however, the most sought-after one is Cat-and-Mouse Game. Like real-life cat-and-mouse games the rodent always wins, and, utilizing the latest smell-o-vision technology (yet to catch on in the human world but highly developed by lab rats in ours), completing each level rewards you with the smell of a different cheese.
 
Also like real cat-and-mouse games, the chase is never-ending! A pawsome way to maximize cheese crumb value for rats who spend all day in the basements of their mothers’ burrows instead of working for a living, and therefore possess little to none of this rodent currency. And because it’s played on the computer instead of a console, it takes maximum advantage of our paw-eye coordination. (After all, only rodents know how to best use a computer mouse.)
 
So watch your feet for a rat rush on all video game stores located close to sewers, as rodents everywhere scurry to get their paws on this coveted Cat-and-Mouse. Without a doubt it’ll maintain its pawpularity, so long as human game programmers – who also live in their mothers’ basements (and love their mothers’ cats) – don’t design the game to give us a real feline at the end!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob

Chew Through to the New

 
Alas: we’ve chewed our way into 2013, and I’ve chewed my way through several pawliday cheese platters over the last several days. (Thanks to all of you who invited me to your New Year’s Eve party, and again, I apawlogize for the bite marks in the brie.)
 
Squeaking – er, speaking – of bite marks, chew on this: an estimated 45% of Americans made a New Year’s resolution nearly a week ago. And since there’s approximately one rat for every human in these fifty nifty United States, we can estimate that that same number of rats – 315 million – did likewise.
 
Here are the top 10 ratty resolutions for the New Year:

1. Refrain from chewing non-food objects; there are better ways of keeping incisors trimmed.
2. Learn something new. Self-application of flea medicine is on the top of my list.
3. Travel. Explore sewers in different cities.
4. Read more. Popular titles include How to Avoid Mousetraps and The World Encyclopedia of Cheese.
5. Listen more; squeak less.
6. Lose the cheese belly. Stay fit with daily scuttles on the hamster wheel.
7. Improve finances by saving more cheese crumbs.
8. Spend more time making a – I mean, with – family.
9. Construct a map of the house detailing all the passageways the cat can’t get into.
10. Taste a new cheese every week.

As you can see, we rodents have lots to nibble in the New Year.
 
I hope your 2013 is off to a squeak, and if you’re among the 45% of humans (or rats) who made a resolution, I hope your commitment becomes completion. (If you need a little encouragement, sniff out my blog Rattled Resolutions from 2011.) In the meantime, may your back be furry and your fleas quite few as you scuttle along in this year all new!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,

Bob