You Dirty… (Terrible Poetry Contest)

The topic for Chelsea’s Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest is small rodents’ opinions on political policies.

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(This started out as a terrible poem and turned into (terrible) prose and I think somewhere along the line it morphed into more of a (terrible) little story than anything else)

You Dirty…

Mrs. Rat said to Mr. Rat: “Why aren’t you watching TV?”

Mr. Rat threw down his hunk of cheese and said: “Because I’m a rat and you’re a rat and everyone on TV is a rat.”

“But…?”

“But we’re good rats and they’re BAD and MEAN and ARROGANT and SELFISH rats. They’re NOGOODNIK rats!”

“You mean?” asked Mrs. Rat.

“Yes. Politicians. All of ’em. He’s a rat…” Mr. Rat said.

“She’s a rat…” Mrs. Rat answered.

“HERE A RAT…” Mr. Rat yelled.

“THERE A RAT…” Mrs. Rat yelled.

And in unison they said: “Everywhere a RAT, RAT” and ended with a two part harmony of, “And there’s no raaat in Democraaat and keep on eye, yes an eye, on the Mobocraaats.”

Mr. and Mrs. Rat laughed and Mrs. Rat bent over and picked up her husband’s discarded piece of cheese and started to hand it back to her mollified husband but started nibbling it instead, dreamily thinking of a nice dollop of peanut butter on top of that chunk of cheddar. “Well,” she said. “Now I know why you turned off the TV.” She swallowed the cheese and said, “Hey, I feel better after our little duet.”

“I do, too.” Mr. Rat said as he eyed the piece of cheese clutched in her delicate and attractive hands. Suddenly he lost sight of the cheese as he focused on her long and well-groomed nails.

“What do you want to do now?” Mrs. Rat asked provocatively.

Still eyeing Mrs. Rat’s finely-boned hands and sensing her receptivity, Mr. Rat felt his vibrissae quiver and stiffen. He didn’t know if he could afford another dozen babies, especially after last month’s litter, but he didn’t really know if he cared. He’d think about that tomorrow. After all, he thought, tomorrow is another day. “Uh, I don’t know,” Mr. Rat answered. “How about you?”

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