Drat, that Rat
It’s a bit bleak out there isn’t it? Billionaires behaving like giant sink holes, like a snake swallowing its own tail. Like that garbage mound ( Marjory the Trash Heap)in Fraggle Rock. But the opposite, not wise or kind. Talking about tails… I been thinking a lot about rat kings. How 32 rats in a German chimney accidentally tied themselves together and ended up in Guinness Book of Records.
I told you about my ballet years? Yes. I was a rat in the Pied Piper production, it was 1983, or thereabouts. My mum sewed me a rat hat and a tail out of grey velour. I don’t remember much, I was crap at ballet. Time went slower at a ballet lesson than anything else I’ve ever experienced, before or since. The wooden stage floor creaked and the backstage was a maze. That was good.
When there were major works done to the train station just a stones throw from our block flats, we were flooded with disillusioned and displaced rats. It was the year after the Olympics. These rodents were the reason we got our cat Eddie. Before we got Eddie, one rat died under our floorboards. The blue bottle flies were something else. Really fat.
Some people call rats, pocket puppies.
I’ve not read a better book than ‘Mrs Frisby and the rats of NIMH’ by Robert C O’Brien ( I’ve yet to watch the Disney movie adaptation).I read that book in a skiing chalet as Prime Minister Olof Palme was shot dead.
Three young rats with black felt hats
Three young ducks with white straw hats
Three young dogs with curling tails
Three young cats with demi veils
Went out to walk with two young pigs
In satin vests and sorrel wigs
But suddenly it started to rain
And so they all went home again
