Yes, who is it?"
"It's me Miss Schnauzer, Mr. Peccary."
"Oh, hello Mr. Peccary. Please come in."
"Thank you Miss Schnauzer." Mr. Peccary stepped inside and carefully
wiped his feet on the plastic grass mat that vigilantly guarded her Persian
rug lying in the hallway. Miss Schnauzer, who was holding open the door,
nodded approvingly at Mr. Peccary's impeccably good manners and followed him
into the living room. She set him down comfortably on her fluffy, flower
patterned couch and then seated herself on her favorite macramé covered
armchair.
"Well, Mr. Peccary," she began politely. "How are you today?"
"Just fine, thank you Miss Schnauzer," he said, smiling weakly.
"Can I get you a cup of tea or perhaps a Tab?"
"No, thank you, Miss Schnauzer. I don't think I can drink a thing right
now. You see Miss Schnauzer, I'm very concerned. Yes, very concerned, and
I'm not quite sure what should properly be done, that is to say, what someone
under these circumstances should most properly do. That is why I have come
to you for help."
"Help, Mr. Peccary?" she asked, leaning forward in her chair.
"Yes, help, Miss Schnauzer. You see, it's my pet rat, Gene. He has been
acting in, well, a most un-rat-like manner, and frankly Miss Schnauzer, I'm
concerned."
"Please go on, Mr. Peccary."
"Thank you, Miss Schnauzer. It started last Saturday, rather abruptly I
would say, when I was feeding Gene his evening snack. You see, on Saturday
evenings I always give Gene his special microwave popcorn. He loves to snack
while we watch Barnaby Jones reruns. Anyhow, I was leaning over his cage
dropping the kernels between the mesh when all of a sudden he spat out the
popcorn, stood up, looked me in the eye, and started gesticulating at me --
rather impolitely too, I might add. Well, I need not tell you that I was
shocked. I looked immediately in my Rat Owner's Handbook, but I'm afraid the
symptoms are not those of any commonly listed ailment. That, Miss Schnauzer,
is why I have come to you for help, being that you are a rodent lover, and,
despite the fact that you are currently in a rodentless state, I have it on
good authority from Mrs. Cornblower that your experience is immense."
"Why thank you Mr. Peccary," Miss Schnauzer said, a slight smile crossing
her lips. "I would be delighted to help Gene. Before I attempt to make a
diagnosis, however, perhaps I should see the patient."
Mr. Peccary stood up from his fluffy, flowered seat and held his hand
towards the door. "Why certainly, Miss Schnauzer. If you please, right this
way."
Mr. Peccary and Miss Schnauzer crossed the hallway to his apartment and
Mr. Peccary politely held open the door for her to enter. He then led her
down a long, poorly lit entranceway into his gray, shabbily furnished living
room. "Here he is, Miss Schnauzer," Mr. Peccary said, pointing to a large
cage that sat on a table next to the television set. "And, oh, dear, he's at
it again."
"Oh, my," Miss Schnauzer said, the blood rushing to her cheeks. "He is
gesticulating, isn't he?" The hooded rat made lewd motions with his hands,
stopped, jumped up and down three times, stood on his head, and then repeated
the same motions with his feet.
"Do you think he's sick?" Mr. Peccary asked in a concerned voice.
Miss Schnauzer stood for a long moment bent over the cage, her eyes fixed
down her long nose at the rat, studying him with such intensity that Mr.
Peccary wondered if she had heard his question. Then, in a distracted voice,
she answered, "No, Mr. Peccary, I don't think Gene is sick...." She stood up
and smoothed out her skirt. "Just very strange."
--Knock, knock, knock--
"Mr. Peccary. Oh, Mr. Peccary." A voice came from
the front door.
"Come in Mrs. Cornblower, and hello, Mrs. Lubb. Please come in." The two
women walked into the living room and stood hesitating by his plastic Ficus
tree near the entrance.
"Hello, Mr. Peccary," Mrs. Cornblower started. "I hope you don't mind.
I was just telling Mrs. Lubb, here, about your unusual rat, and she insisted
that I bring her right over to see."
"I don't mind at all Mrs. Cornblower," Mr. Peccary said, in fact minding.
"How are you today, Mrs. Lubb?"
"Oh terrible, Mr. Peccary. My feet have been giving me . . . oh, is that the
rat?"
"Yes, that's Gene."
Mrs. Lubb hobbled over to the cage to get a better look. The rat at the
moment was showing the most amazing dexterity with his fingers. "My
goodness, what is it that he is doing?"
"He's communicating, Mrs. Lubb," Miss Schnauzer answered.
Mrs. Lubb looked at Miss Schnauzer to see if she was joking. A quick
glance told her she was not. "Communicating?" she repeated.
"Yes, Mrs. Lubb. I have been studying Gene's behavior for a while now,
and I am almost certain that he is communicating in one form or another."
"With who?"
"I would presume with Mr. Peccary, although I cannot yet be certain."
"Amazing!" Mrs. Cornblower said in an amazed voice.
"But Miss Schnauzer," objected Mr. Peccary. "I assure you that if Gene
is trying to communicate with me, he has so far been very unsuccessful since
I cannot understand a word he is saying. Besides, Miss Schnauzer, how could
Gene be communicating? He is a rat, for goodness sake."
"All creatures communicate, Mr. Peccary. Some are just more garrulous
than others." She straightened her posture slightly and stared down her nose
at Mr. Peccary in the same way, he thought uncomfortably, that she had stared
at the rat. When it became clear to her that there would be no further
objections, she continued. "As for Gene communicating with you, Mr. Peccary,
I already said that I cannot yet be certain. I would add, however, Mr.
Peccary, that not all communication takes place at the conscious level, so do
not jump so quickly to conclusions. Now, Mr. Peccary, if you would be so
kind, there is a large, brown box in my front closet which is too heavy for
me to carry. Would you bring it here to me, please. I believe then I can
tell you more."
Miss Schnauzer, Mrs. Cornblower, and Mrs. Lubb waited in Mr. Peccary's
living room while he ran across the hall. After a moment, he returned,
slightly winded, carrying a large cardboard box. He set it on the coffee
table, on top of a pile of National Geographic magazines, and stepped back to
give Miss Schnauzer plenty of room.
"Thank you, Mr. Peccary," Miss Schnauzer said, as she opened the
cardboard flaps. She reached inside and pulled out a model 1605 Rat-O-Matic,
still in mint condition.
"Oooh," Mrs. Cornblower gushed, impressed by the sleek monitor and carbon
steel actuator coils.
Miss Schnauzer placed the Rat-O-Matic on the floor next to Gene. Then,
on hands and knees, she plugged the cord into the socket on the wall by to
the couch. A green glow, like lime Jell-O, filled the room as the monitor of
the Rat-O-Matic purred to life.
Mr. Peccary, who had been politely averting his eyes at the sight of Miss
Schnauzer's bare calves, stared closely at the blank screen.
"It's blank, Miss Schnauzer," he said disappointedly.
Miss Schnauzer straightened up and smoothed the wrinkles off the hibiscus
prints that adorned her dress. "Of course, Mr. Peccary. It's not attached."
As she said this she inserted a long probe through the grill of Gene's cage
and snapped it tightly around the tip of his tail.
Gene squeaked, looked down at the probe and then continued his
gesticulations. Very slowly, one letter at a time, a message appeared on the
Rat-O-Matic. They all leaned forward and with great anticipation, read each
word as it appeared, Mr. Peccary, Mrs. Cornblower and Miss Schnauzer
together, Mrs. Lubb a second behind: "OPEN...THE...DAMN...BID!"
Mr. Peccary looked at Miss Schnauzer. "I don't understand, Miss
Schnauzer, bid on what?"
"Oh, oh," exclaimed Mrs. Lubb. "Maybe he wants us to bid on him. I bid
one dollar!"
Gene looked at Mrs. Lubb and frantically waved his paws. New words began
forming on the Rat-O-Matic. "I see," said Miss Schnauzer, "it wasn't bid, he
means open the lid."
"Open the lid, Miss Schnauzer?" asked Mr. Peccary.
"Yes, Mr. Peccary, open the lid."
Mr. Peccary unfastened the grill on top of the cage and with a leap, Gene
bounded out, leaving the probe of the Rat-O-Matic behind in the cage. With a
swoosh, Gene expanded like a balloon into the shape of a balding, middle aged
man wearing a cardigan sweater, a golf shirt and dockers. At the same time,
Mr.
Peccary, who still had
one hand on the lid, deflated into a rat, landing with a plop at the bottom
of the cage.
"Thank you, Miss Schnauzer," the restored Mr. Peccary said, dusting the
cedar shavings from his cardigan.
"Mr. Peccary, you were using your Switch-A-Rat again, weren't you," she
scolded.
"Yes, I was Miss Schnauzer," he sighed, "but I couldn't change back until
Gene opened the cage. I thought he would have to eventually, that is, to
change my shavings, but he never did."
Miss Schnauzer wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. "Filthy rat."
x x x
|