Pickles

The humans named me Pickles. Honestly, I don’t know what that means. Is it a common human name? Why is it plural? Is there something about my appearance or personality that made them choose this name? Or was it just random? Did the humans simply like the sound of the name?

So, I am Pickles. I am a rat. Now, before you stop reading… rats get a bad name. Blame New York City subway rats. Or those rats that spread the Black Death around Europe centuries ago and killed off a third of the population. It’s really not fair though. Rats like me are nice little pets. We’ve been described as “pocket puppies”. We’re cute, intelligent, cuddly, and playful.

My breeder has been breeding generations of rats. I’ve been specifically bred to be an ideal pet. Like I said, I’m like a little puppy. And I cannot stress this enough - I do not carry any diseases!

I was recently adopted by a nice little family of three humans. Mother, father, and small child - I believe her name is Maureen. The parents don’t interact with me too much, but young Maureen seems quite fond of me. Unfortunately, she has yet to master the art of gentleness. She plays with me and my fellow pet rats like we’re action figures.

Yes, there are more rats here in this cage with me. There’s myself, plus two others. We’re all female, so no hanky panky. I’m Pickles of course, and then there’s Remy and also Coco. I met them - along with a dozen or so other young rats - at the breeder’s. We’re all in this together, but I wouldn’t say we’re exactly friends yet.

Remy doesn’t seem to like being here. Two or three times a day, the humans let us out of our cage - thank god! - and let us explore a little playpen. The pen walls are fairly tall, but Remy seems to believe she has the ability to jump over the walls. And to her credit, she’s come close a couple times. But I honestly don’t see it happening. So Remy seems determined on escaping this little pen and exploring the rest of the house, if not the world. She’s so intent on escaping, she’s barely paid me or Coco any attention. She’s definitely a loner.

Then there’s Coco. She’ll interact with me a little, and always seems curious about what I’m up to. She’ll hang out close by… but there’s a reason for this. Coco likes to steal my food. Especially when the humans give us dried bananas. Those are Coco’s favorite. The humans will give all three of us a piece, and Coco will scurry off with hers into some corner, and then return to swipe my piece. I’m the youngest of us three rats, kind of a runt. And Coco’s realized this. She doesn’t mess with Remy, who’s the largest of us.

The three of us, while not doing much together, all enjoy the company of the humans. Maybe it’s because they feed us. But when they enter the playpen, it’s fun to climb their legs and mount their shoulders and take in the scenery of the room. The parents don’t seem to love us climbing them - especially when we pee a little… whoops - but young Maureen savors it. She’ll even encourage it, picking us up - again, not too gently - and placing us upon her shoulders or even atop her head. She’ll then walk around the room as if showing off her new pets. Me, I love finding a nice little hiding spot within the pockets of her hoodie. It’s a lot safer in there.

As I mentioned, we get to roam the playpen a few times a day. But most of our time is spent in our cage. Unlike some other rodents, we’re not nocturnal, but we do like our naps during the day. We often sleep while Maureen is off at school and the parents at work. We’ll also sleep most of the night, but will occasionally awake and forage for any food scraps - basically anything that Coco hasn’t already found and either hidden or eaten.

One night, I awoke to a loud squeaking sound. Perched in my hammock, I opened my eyes to search for the source of the sound. I quickly discovered that it was Remy, who was squeaking with glee - the door to our cage had been left open! I looked out past the cage, and the playpen was not fully assembled either. All of Remy’s wildest wishes came true - she could finally escape!

We each looked toward one another, deciding what to do. Even Remy, who wanted nothing more than to leap her way to freedom, seemed to hesitate. It was one thing dreaming of the wide open world, but it was another to actually go explore it. What sort of dangers lurked out there in the darkness?

After a moment, Remy found her courage. She carefully exited the cage door, and began her way across the kitchen. She stopped to sniff a crumb, which caught Coco’s attention. If there was food out there, Coco was interested in finding it.

Me, I just didn’t want to be left in the cage by myself. Sure, I was a bit curious too. What DID exist out there beyond the cage and playpen? So I followed.

I’ve never understood the phrase “the world is my oyster” but whatever that means, yes, my world had transformed. Everything was so BIG! Remy immediately started climbing a chair and leaping onto a countertop. She clearly preferred being high up, able to view as much as she could. From there she made her way into the living room, now scaling the couch.

Coco never left the kitchen. That was where all the food was at, of course. She discovered an open pantry door and a spilled box of breakfast cereal. The humans often gave us Cheerios as treats, but just imagine the look on Coco’s face when she discovered something called Froot Loops for the first time!

I slowly made my way out of the kitchen. Like Remy, I climbed the couch and briefly rested upon a pillow. It was so comfy. Perhaps I’d spend the remainder of the night here after I’d finished exploring. But… not just yet. I found a discarded lollipop underneath the couch, feasting on the pure sugar for a while. I climbed onto the windowsill, watching the sparse traffic driving up and down the street. I heard an owl in the distance, and took comfort in knowing the predator could not reach me behind this window.

Eventually I found a staircase. I considered climbing up the steps to explore the world above me, but decided against it. If one of the humans awoke in the middle of the night, I could be found out. Or worse - Maureen could find me, and bring me into bed with her. I wouldn’t put it past the child to tuck me underneath her pillow, where I’d risk being crushed to death. So I remained on the first floor.

I made my way back into the kitchen, hoping to find some food that Coco had not yet uncovered. I stopped short when I saw a large, fluffy tail… Molly.

I now realize that I haven’t mentioned Molly. Molly was a tabby cat, who spent most of her time outdoors, surely terrorizing the neighborhood. Every now and then she came in for food and water, and took interest in us rats. Thankfully, we were usually in our cage, and when we were in the playpen the humans made sure to keep the cat away. But the usual look in her eyes when she saw us rats was clear - she’d eat us if given the chance.

And here she was, in the kitchen. Thankfully, her back was turned to me. She was looking intently at something… no, lording over something. Or someone.

Molly had my two rat counterparts cornered. Remy and Coco stood in the corner of the kitchen, huddling together and shaking in fear. Molly inched toward them, licking her lips.

Now, I could have easily sprinted back to the cage, returning to safety. These two had never shown any interest in me. Remy simply ignored me while Coco ate my food. What did I owe these two? My own safety was my top priority.

But… I’m better than that. I could not simply run away while two other rats met their gruesome end. I had to do something.

But what?

I looked around the kitchen. There was a broom resting against the wall. But I doubted that as a tiny mouse I had the strength to knock it over. There were some pots and pans next to the sink - could I bang something against them to make a clatter? No, probably not.

I tried squeaking. But it was not nearly loud enough. The cat didn’t even flinch.

Then I looked into the pantry. In her search for food, Coco had knocked over a box of uncooked pasta noodles. The humans periodically gave us these as a treat, which were also good for our teeth. They’d become one of my favorite snacks.

I also knew that when we rats chewed on the noodles, it made a loud noise. Maureen’s father had said it sounded like hail hitting the window. A consistent tapping sound, a repetitive clatter.

As Molly inched toward her prey, I began nibbling as fast as I could. The hail sound enveloped the room. The cat broke free of her murderous focus, and turned to look at me. We made eye contact. She braced her body to pounce, to sprint across the room toward me.

As her body tensed, I broke into action. I ran as fast as I could, faster than I’d ever ran in my life, back toward the cage. I glanced toward the others. They’d been paralyzed by fear, but now understood this was their only opportunity to escape to safety. They ran toward the cage as well.

Thankfully, Molly was an older cat, out of shape from frequent treats and suffering from achy joints. She had longer legs than I did, but was not fast enough to catch up to me. I leapt into the cage and scrambled toward the back, hiding inside a little plastic house. Remy and Coco arrived in the cage just after I did, and also hid.

The cage door was too small for the cat to even fit her head, but of course she tried. Her mouth came within just a handful of inches of our little house, but she could go no further. She frantically snapped her jaw, fruitlessly trying to bite at us. Then as she began retracting her head, we all realized that her head was stuck in the door! She began flailing her body around, whining and moaning and giving out an agonized scream.

This continued for a few moments before we saw the lights turn on. The parents came downstairs, confused and irritated. They soon understood what was going on. The woman carefully helped the cat ease her head out of the door, and the man then firmly closed it.

Molly shook her head in frustration, and maybe a little pain. She glared at the three of us, silently vowing revenge.

But we were safe.

Now, rats cannot speak. You surely know that. But no words needed to be said just then. Both Remy and Coco gave me a look, a look I hadn’t seen from them before. A look of acceptance.

From that night on, things were different. We were closer, a team. I’d love to say Coco no longer stole my food, but that’s not entirely true. She just did it a lot less. Sometimes her hunger got the best of her. And Remy paid me more attention too. The three of us would explore the playpen together. We’d play together, eat together, sleep nestled up together.

All it took was a near-death experience at the hands of an evil cat, but we’d found our own little family. It had been a handful of weeks since this family adopted us, but I’d finally found my home.