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