Greedy (by Justin L.)

​Nose twitching. Ears swivelling, side to side. Whiskers quivering, picking up even the teensiest little vibration. The wonderful scent! Oh, the redness of its stretched, ripe skin. It is a dream for every rat worth his salt. Careful now. Don’t get discovered. Careful little steps, pit-pattering across the kitchen table.  I freeze, cocking my round, grey head, sniffing the air. Good. The cat is still outside. Keep moving.

Every inch of my minute rodent body is tensed and coiled, ready to spring at the first scent, the first shadow, the first vibration of anything that could be dangerous. Now just to tiptoe past the speckled green snake curled up behind the glass; humans keep some really WEIRD pets! All clear, not even a flick of the tongue from that foul serpent. Creep along the table top, almost there! The bowl of tomatoes stands ahead, virtually glowing with deliciousness. From this distance, the waft of heavenly scent nearly bowls me over.

Come on, come on. Grab just ONE tomato, don’t get carried away, just ONE. Or maybe two. One more can’t hurt. Just ONE more? I wobble, my arms full of tomato. I can’t crawl like this, I look more like a red bowling ball than a rat. Maybe… ah! An idea!

I manage to stumble off the high table and to the entrance of my hole. My cheeks are sore, the 5 tomatoes inside my mouth are stretching them to the maximum. I keep thinking, I’m not a bloody chipmunk! I spit the tomatoes out. Quickly, quickly, roll them into the hole, into the larder. Gods! The larder’s almost empty! I can still cram in at least… I do a quick calculation, while eating one of the tomatoes. Another 5 tomatoes at least, I reason. No, 6! On account of the one I just ate! Okay, got to climb back onto the table, and grab 7 more tomatoes, just in case I run out. Maybe 8, actually. Or 9. They can be kept in the living room. Good. Okay.

Oh no. I cower behind the glass of tomatoes, shaking so hard I can hear my teeth banging together. No, no, no, I’M TOO HUNGRY TO DIE! The cat blinks and regards me with a cold, acid green eye. I notice only too well that slowly, inch by inch, the dreaded razors on the cat’s paws are sliding out of their sheaths. In my fear, I’ve already devoured 2 tomatoes. It’s called stress eating. Slowly I slide back across the table, carrying the remaining 7 tomatoes that were left in the bowl. The cat is crouching, ready to pounce. I keep backing up, placing one foot deliberately in front of another. That is, until one of them hit thin air. AHHHHH!

I land on the floor, just in time to see the cat pounce a second too late. The cat has jumped right off the table and it is only in mid-air that he realises his rodent snack has escaped. I watch as the cat, soaring gracefully in mid-pounce, face-plants in a pot plant that is right in his path.

I roll the tomatoes into the living room, shaking like a sack of jelly. Phew. I won’t go outside again, not after a risk like that! I won’t even go outside for a … wait. Is that a CREAM PIE OUT THERE! MY LARDER IS EMPTY! I’ve got to go, my appetite is calling me!

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