by Rebecca McLeod
Floppy the kitten was not a professionally trained chef, but he did enjoy watching Mom’s cooking shows on Netflix, especially ones with Gordon Ramsay. Chef Ramsay was yelly and exciting and he had Michelin stars (whatever those were). The only thing that Floppy didn’t understand about those shows was when Chef Ramsay said that someone’s food tasted like “cat food,” he said it like it was a bad thing! Cat food was delicious, in Floppy’s humble opinion – especially the turkey and giblets flavor.
by Rebecca McLeod
The rats were busy chewing a pumpkin into a Death Star facsimile under the guidance of Bob, the pack’s official engineer and current artistic director. Bob had big dreams, but was working with a surly, nearsighted construction crew that was more interested in eating the pumpkin than carving it.
by Rebecca McLeod
“Ehhhhhhhh!”
This is the sound that my kitten, Floppy, uses for most communicative occasions. It means a variety of things:
“Mom, I think I broke your iPhone!” (Yes Floppy, and I think you broke my foot when the iPhone landed on it.)
“Mom, I’m sitting in the dryer!” (Great Floppy, thanks for pre-shedding the clean clothes.)
by Rebecca McLeod
Tikky, the big black cat waited for the mail. He was of the minds that by doing all the things dogs traditionally do (fetching slippers and mail; licking faces; following the humans from room to room); he postponed the possibility of them getting an actual disgusting, slobbery dog. It wasn’t too difficult – I mean, dogs weren’t known for their exceptional brainpower – and he could nap in a sunbeam while he waited for the mail to pop through the slot.
by Rebecca McLeod
“Mom ditched us?” Bob incredulously asked. “But I thought she loved us!”
“I bet it was that damn Tikky cat that talked her into it. I knew he was up to no good,” muttered Pirate. She’d seen that big tomcat staring at their cage, and she knew what cats were like. Shifty characters, although she rather admired how the little female Babycat would beat up Tikky (who weighed as much as two Babycats). There was a lot to be said for having a strong character.
by Rebecca McLeod
“Lookit what we caught!” hollered Linus as he and the other baby boys scampered up from their latest expedition. The four young boy rats were dragging a fish by a length of fishing line still attached to the hook in its mouth. Behind them waddled Zander and Dexter. Dexter wore an army helmet and a machete strapped to his curly-furred back. Those zombie hamsters weren’t going to catch him unprepared.
by Rebecca McLeod
Sitting round a table fashioned of a Q-Tip Box, the mother does enjoyed a late brunch, compliments of their offspring and indulgent owner. There were scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, and veggies with a little brown bread to round out the edges of the meal. As the hustle of snagging the best pieces of food died down, the does began to compare notes on Mother’s Day and how their individual sessions with their offspring had gone.
by Rebecca McLeod
It is seriously difficult to tell one white rat from another. Some owners trim their fur a little in patterns to try and tell them apart; others use food coloring, but I’ve largely given up. The White Babies don’t want individuality; I think of them as having a hive mind controlled by the Head White Baby.
by Rebecca McLeod
Old Man Rodent came to us as a rescue from another rescue that had become overwhelmed with animals and financial difficulties and had had to close its doors. He was described as “rat aggressive”, which meant that he could not be housed with any of our other male rats, but needed his own cage. Skinny, partially bald from a wicked case of mites, and so dirty that I couldn’t figure out what color to enter into our records, he joined the crew at Bec and Matt’s Rats around Halloween with twelve other ratties. His unfortunate name, was Ashtray.
by Rebecca McLeod
The two groups of does faced each other across the kitchen floor. Their beady little eyes narrowed as they squinted at each other nearsightedly. On one side, this was merely curiosity. On the other side, rage was building.
by Rebecca McLeod
After Bluey and his son passed, Spotty found himself in the unenviable position of raising four adolescent male rats without the aid of good teeth or superior body mass. The teenagers rampaged up and down the cage, tipping bowls, humping the indignant Spotty (“Ah have been violated”), and devouring every scrap of food before Spotty even saw the food bowl. He was especially put out when they ate his specially prepared baby food that, along with applesauce and soft bread, was the only thing his teeth could handle.
by Rebecca McLeod
Bluey: the alpha male of the Boys’ Cage and a new father. Overwhelmed by his new responsibilities.
El Dorado: a troublemaker but good at heart.
Spotty Boy: a neutered male rat with a mellow disposition. Loves his food bowl.
The Babies: Bluey’s unruly children, product of his relationship with the doe Willow.
by Rebecca McLeod
Rebecca shares with KRL another fun story from the perspective of her pet rats. This story takes place in the Boys Cage after Tommy and Captain Smudge have gone to the Rainbow Bridge.
by Rebecca McLeod
“I love dis show,” sighs Cuddles, “I mean, look at dose boxes everywhere an the sandwich sitting right where I can reach it! I fink I even saw a bag of chips open on da floor!”
The other does nod and Psyche reaches forward to turn the volume up with the remote.
