As you are aware, dear fans, being – as I am – Genus Rattus World Super-Brain (that is, ‘World Super-Brain of the Rat Species’) I rarely need to seek anyone else’s advice about anything. However, I’m sure you’ll agree that even the best of us need a little help now and then. So it was, that finding myself in a bit of a quandary, two days ago I began looking round to see which of my many acquaintances could set me straight on the rather sensitive matter of whether or not I should report a friend of mine to the police. But as you will shortly discover, these same innocent enquiries soon plunged me head first into a whole heap of trouble – so much so, that it wasn’t long before I began to think my life would never, ever be the same again.

The friend in question, who for the purposes of this account I’ll call Bill Jones, is a quiet, unassuming white rat who, contrary to his well-bred appearance, recently took up the nefarious practice of stealing. Like me, years ago Bill used to be a pet rat, but while he was still quite young he managed to get out of his cage and escape far away from his owner’s house. Since then, he’s lived happily in the countryside with his brown cousins, participating in the wildlife community just as fully as I do. But sad to say, something bad seems to have happened to him lately. His cheerful spirit has quite deserted him, and now he seems to display a dull disinterest in just about everything. In consequence of that, these days most of his old friends tend to give him a wide berth.

All this is bad enough, to be sure. But imagine my shock and horror when, as I was shopping the other day in Life Stratterjees (our local grocery store), I observed this same friend slipping items off the shelf into his pockets, and then leaving the premises without paying! At first I thought there must surely be a logical explanation for these actions. Perhaps Bill and the management had come to an arrangement that I knew nothing of, which entitled him to help himself to the produce in exchange for some services rendered, for example. This seemed like such a good reason for what I’d seen, that when I noticed him doing the same thing again on two other occasions, I actually smiled at him and asked him if he needed my assistance! Each time this happened he appeared flustered and taken aback, and then to my surprise rushed hastily out of the store without stopping to answer me. Even so, I might not have thought too much about it, were it not for a chance remark that I overheard Tony Ratterjee, the brown rat who runs the store, say shortly afterwards. ‘I can’t understand it, stuff keeps disappearing from my shelves, and it’s definitely not being paid for,’ he complained to a customer in his sing-song Indian voice. ‘If this does not stop soon, I must certainly be telling the police.’ That was it, then – I could no longer have any doubt that Bill was a thief! So now the only question that remained was this:

What on earth was I going to do about it?

Then, as it turned out, my first opportunity to intervene came almost immediately, when I bumped into my friend as he was coming out of the dentist’s surgery. But when I broached the subject by asking him why he had twice run out of the store without saying hello to me, to my dismay he declared that he hadn’t been there for weeks, so I must be confusing him with someone else. Well, I mean, REALLY! What would it say for the rest of rodent-kind if I, Genus Rattus World Super-Brain, were not capable of recognising my own friends when I saw them?

With that, I at last became so worried about Bill that I started asking others for ideas as to how to help him stop shoplifting. Some said that I should report his actions to the police, whilst others insisted that to do that would mean betraying my friend – a greater wrong by far than the theft itself! But no one could offer the sort of constructive advice that would actually put a full stop to his stealing. And so THAT was when a little voice in my ear gave me the following strange tip: ‘When in doubt, ask a monkey.’

A monkey? Seriously?

I looked around to see who had spoken, but in vain. Not a soul was in sight! Yet as I directed my gaze forwards once more, all of a sudden there appeared before me a most unusual painting… a painting that depicted not one, not two, but THREE monkeys! The first of these had his hands over his eyes, the second had them over his ears, and the third held them clasped over his mouth. The caption underneath read: ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’. So was that my answer? Was I supposed to pretend I hadn’t seen the shoplifting or heard Tony’s complaint, and then keep my mouth shut and let the thefts continue? Ask a monkey, indeed! What kind of rubbish was that?

I was still fuming over the very idea of it, when I was unpleasantly surprised by a brown rat in policeman’s uniform, whose hand had just alighted on my shoulder. ‘Lord Grumpkin of Grumblemore?’ he enquired, scanning me up and down with a penetrating gaze.

‘Yes, that’s me, Officer,’ I replied, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘I’m afraid you’ve been positively identified in connection with a number of thefts from the grocery store,’ said he, ‘and so I’m placing you under arrest on suspicion of shoplifting.’

‘Under arrest? Me? Oh, no, Officer, you’re making a terrible mistake!’ I cried. ‘I do know who the thief is, but I assure you, it isn’t me!’

‘Well, before you say any more, it’s my duty to tell you this,’ he answered. ‘You have the right to remain silent, but anything you do say may be written down and used in evidence against you…’

What was that he was telling me? I struggled hard to understand, but with no success. Little by little my mind was freezing over with shock, and soon all the rest of his words had morphed into a great long blur of meaningless sound…

I don’t remember exactly what happened next. But when I finally came back to myself I was sitting in a small police cell, behind a locked door, and then the officer’s face suddenly reappeared on the other side of the bars.

‘Well, are you ready to tell us who the real thief is yet?’ he asked me. ‘You’d better be quick if you want to get out of here. The court case is in two days, which means if you don’t give us the information we need soon, you may very well find yourself convicted of somebody else’s crime!’

Of course, that was such a horrible prospect that I straight away opened my mouth to give him Bill’s name and secure my release. But just then a monkey appeared in my mind’s eye, gesturing wildly, and making clear expressions of alarm. ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil!’ he seemed to cry at me, as he slapped his hands over his mouth to emphasise the point. Oh, no! How was I going to incriminate my old friend Bill now, in the face of such constraint? So for the longest time I simply gaped at the officer and said nothing. Then eventually sound came out of my mouth and I heard myself mumble, ‘Actually, Officer, I’m not really sure who it was that I saw take the stuff. I’m very sorry, I don’t think I can help you after all.’

‘Pity, Grumpkin,’ he answered, ‘You’re a fine person and I’d hate to see you go down for this. Still, if you’re sure you don’t want to talk…’ He waited for a moment longer, then with a sigh he left me alone, and a great sinking feeling came over me as I realised I’d just sealed my fate.

Well, the two days passed like two short hours, then before I knew it, there I was in the courtroom where things were not going well. I had spoken up vigorously in my own defence, only to be cross examined at length by a fiery tempered female rat who was determined to have me convicted. Now the two barristers were done summing up, and all that remained was for the judge to consider her verdict – and she clearly wasn’t going to waste the court’s time with lengthy deliberations. Indeed, she had got so far as to ask me to stand to receive her judgment, when the proceedings were suddenly interrupted by a loud commotion. And before anyone could stop him, who should burst into the room but a black rat in a white coat, a shiny silver stethoscope swinging from his neck.

‘Many apologies, Judge Jenny!’ he exclaimed breathlessly. ‘Please forgive this intrusion, but it’s my professional duty to inform you that you have the wrong person in the dock. The individual who stole the items from the shop is also a white rat – hence the mistaken identity – but I can confidently assure you that Lord Grumpkin is one hundred per cent innocent of this crime.’

‘Well, I must say, Doctor Huffanpuff, this revelation is surprising to say the least,’ frowned the judge, a sleek-backed crow with a wit as sharp as her spiky beak. ‘What evidence do you have to support your claims?’

The doctor fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills. ‘This is the medication that I’ve been prescribing for Bill Jones,’ he said, handing it to the judge. ‘It was intended to help him sleep, but what I didn’t realise till today is that it’s been working rather too well. It turns out he’s actually been sleeping round the clock, and hardly waking at all except to eat and take another pill.’

‘Well, I’m sure that’s all very interesting, Doctor, but what has Bill Jones got to do with this case?’ Judge Jenny demanded.

‘Simply this, your Honour,’ said Doctor Huffanpuff. ‘Today I saw for myself what he’s been doing all this time. I followed him into the store and watched him take various things off the shelves and cram them into his pockets. Naturally I confronted him about the theft, but he didn’t respond. It was as if he couldn’t see or hear me, and that’s when I realised what was wrong. He was apparently so affected by this medication that he had absolutely no knowledge or memory of any of his actions. To put it in plain language, Judge Jenny, he’s been sleepwalking – or if you prefer, sleep-shopping!’

‘Sleep-shopping? Well, that will certainly be a new one for our science books,’ observed Judge Jenny, ‘and it will, of course, have an impact on my verdict.  But before I pronounce judgment in this matter, can you please say whether your patient now acknowledges his wrongdoing?’

‘Yes, indeed he does, your Honour. What’s more, he’s sincerely sorry for the trouble he’s caused, and to prove it, he’s given me more than enough currency to pay for all the items that were taken.’ He pushed forward a large bucket of earthworms, a popular means of payment in the local wildlife community.

‘I see, thank you, Doctor,’ replied the judge. She paused to scribble briefly with her beak on the legal document before her. Then she said, ‘As a result of the new evidence provided, I now rule that judgment against Bill Jones be set aside on the grounds of diminished responsibility. I also rule that following his confession of shoplifting from the grocery store, the currency he has offered as reparation for his crime be handed over to Tony Ratterjee in compensation for his losses. And finally, in light of these unusual developments, the case against Lord Grumpkin of Grumblemore is hereby dismissed.’

I was absolutely incredulous. ‘Dismissed? But, your Honour, what about MY compensation?’ I cried.

‘YOUR compensation?’ croaked the judge, cocking her head quizzically in my direction.

‘Yes, Judge Jenny, I’ve just spent two days in a police cell for a crime I didn’t commit! Surely I should have a share in the compensation you’ve just awarded?’

‘Hmm, two days…’ she mused, pressing her beak to the document to add a few more words to its contents. ‘Yes, thank you for drawing my attention to this, Lord Grumpkin. It was indeed an omission on my part to overlook the time you spent in police custody. Shall we say that you will pay the court compensation equal to half the amount paid by Bill Jones?’

My face pulled into a puzzled frown. ‘Er, begging your pardon, your Honour, I think you mean that I should RECEIVE half that amount in compensation, not pay it to the court,’ I said.

‘No, Lord Grumpkin, I am not accustomed to saying what I do not mean,’ she stated. ‘As the person wrongly arrested and charged for this crime, you have clearly been occupying a police cell under false pretences. I therefore order you to pay one half-bucket of live earthworms in compensation for the two days’ bed and board that you received, despite your lack of any legal entitlement, at considerable public expense! You are hereby instructed to present the said currency to the court by not later than this time tomorrow.’

I was so stunned by that unexpected turn of events that I could do nothing but open and shut my mouth like a fish, and then watch helplessly as Judge Jenny signed the court order. However, when I finally got home I could no longer contain my fury.

WHAT! Me pay compensation to the police for their mistake? This is preposterous, I shall appeal to the highest court in the land! I shall make a formal complaint to the Police Commissioner! I shall write to Her Majesty the Queen if necessary, and request a royal pardon! I shall stop at nothing till this most grievous miscarriage of justice is overturned!

And what’s more, if that idiotic chimpanzee in the picture above doesn’t stop laughing at me right this minute, I’m going to have him arrested for harassment – then we’ll see who’s laughing!

And I can tell you now, fans, once he’s been through Judge Jenny’s courtroom, it certainly won’t be him!

 

 

What is it with modern manufacturers, fans? Do they really think we don’t notice? Nowadays, all too often companies try to create a bigger profit by reducing the quality of their goods, and then selling them on for the same price as before. But why can’t they keep the better quality and just put up the price? …or else, make two versions of the product so that consumers can decide if they actually WANT to buy the inferior one? And as if paying over the odds isn’t enough, unexpected changes in quality can also result in accidents – as evidenced by the unfortunate events of this very day…

It all began when I took the cap off a cheaply made, thinner-than-usual plastic milk bottle, which then flexed in my hands and slipped totally out of my grasp. Of course milk splashed everywhere! So I wiped the table and got up to fetch a mop for the floor, but in so doing I then skidded on a wet patch and fell over. After that, I must have hit my head and blacked out for a few moments, because when I opened my eyes again, suddenly there in front of me, looking ever so worried, was Bumble the miniature Badger.

‘Well, twizzle my whiskers, what are you doing on the floor?’ he cried, bending down to help me up.  Then hearing me mutter vaguely in response, he looked at me and said, ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you do seem a bit under the weather, Grumpkin. Why don’t you go and sit by the fire while I make you a nice cup of tea?’
‘Nonsense, Bumble, I’m absolutely fine!’ I snapped back at him, hauling myself upright. ‘It’s okay, I’ll make the tea. You sit down at the table and leave it to me.’
‘Well, all right, if you’re sure…’
‘Bumble, you are talking to the world’s one and only Aristocratic, Lion-Hearted, Acrobatic Super-Rat! Of course I’m sure, now hand me that teapot.’

However, while I was getting on with the drinks I failed to notice the badger mopping the floor behind me, using one of the many cleaning products that he’d found in my cupboard. The result of that was, that as I finally turned round to see what he was doing, I lost my footing for the second time, and went crashing down onto the tiles.
‘Oh, no – not again!’ exclaimed Bumble. ‘What happened, Grumpkin?’
‘What do you mean, what happened? Are you trying to kill me? What on earth did you use on this floor, it’s like an ice-rink in here!’ I complained, as I rolled over and scrambled to my feet.
‘Well, I’m ever so sorry, I can’t understand it. I used Squeakie Kleen, the same stuff I always use,’ Bumble answered, looking puzzled. ‘It’s true, though, it does seem a bit greasier than usual. What do you think?’ he said, frowning as he placed it in my hands.

I sniffed it and winced at the unusual fruity smell. Then I took a little between my fingers, and it felt light and oily to the touch. ‘This product doesn’t seem right to me,’ I said suspiciously. ‘Something about it has changed. I wonder if cleaning fluids can turn bad?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ said Bumble with a shrug, ‘but more likely than not the company has just modified the ingredients. Never mind, if you like I’ll mop the floor again with water to get the grease off. But I must say, Grumpkin, all this work is making me quite thirsty. How’s that cup of tea coming along?’
‘Coming right up!’ I replied, giving the two steaming mugs a final stir. ‘Why don’t you take a break now, Bumble, and sit down for a minute?’
‘Good idea,’ the badger said. So I opened a new packet of biscuits, and then we took our seats at the kitchen table. However, it wasn’t long before we noticed yet another odd thing.

‘I say, Grumpkin, do these biscuits taste all right to you? They seem to have lost some of their usual flavour.’
‘Yes, you’re right, I guess they must have been modified too!’ I agreed with surprise. ‘They’re sickly sweet now, with no other real flavour at all. Tell you what, I’ve got some chocolate snack bars somewhere. Why don’t I just get them out and we can have those instead?’
‘That sounds great,’ said Bumble.
So with that, I got up and rummaged around in the larder for the packet of goodies. Then once I had found them, I tipped them onto a plate and handed them to the waiting badger.

But as soon as I sat back down, I realised that instead of tucking in, Bumble was picking them up one by one and then putting them back on the plate. There was a bemused look on his face, and so I asked him what was the matter.
‘Well, all the wrappings seem normal size,’ he said, ‘but the chocolate bars inside feel really small. Here, see for yourself.’ And he passed the plate to me. Sure enough, I peeled off one of the wrappings only to find a tiny wee snack bar hiding within it.

‘I don’t believe it, I paid full price for these!’ I snorted in disgust. ‘It’s daylight robbery, that’s what it is!’  
‘Yes, and that’s not the only thing you’ve overpaid for,’ remarked Bumble, pulling a new bottle of detergent out of the shopping basket on the table. ‘This has been seriously watered down, I’m afraid,’ he said, shaking it to demonstrate the sloshing sound. Then he reached in for something else. ‘And as for this roll of sticky tape, it’s never going to pull out properly,’ he went on, prizing off bits and pieces in useless little slivers. ‘It’s no good, Grumpkin, you might just as well throw it in the bin.’
‘WHAT! That’s ridiculous, what’s wrong with it?’ I cried indignantly. But sadly, the badger was right. As hard as I tried to unwind the tape, it kept tearing off in narrow, jagged strips, leaving the end of it quite lost and invisible on the roll. I was absolutely fuming!

‘I mean, REALLY!’ I exclaimed, throwing the detergent and the sticky tape abruptly back in the basket, ‘to think that almost everything I’ve bought today is sheer rubbish! Well, I can tell you, all this is going back where it came from, and then I’m jolly well going to give that shopkeeper a piece of my mind!’ So saying, I threw back my chair, jumped up angrily, and stormed towards the door. And with that, the next thing I remember, there was Bumble the miniature Badger, bending over me and looking ever so worried…

‘Well, twizzle my whiskers, what are you doing on the floor?’ he cried, bending down to help me up.  Then hearing me mutter vaguely in response, he looked at me and said, ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you do seem a bit under the weather, Grumpkin. Why don’t you go and sit by the fire while I make you a nice cup of tea?’

Is there really such a thing as bad luck? Speaking personally, I hadn’t given any thought to this question till a couple of weeks ago, when, despite the winter season, a certain human neighbour of mine decided to paint all of his window sills bright red. To put you in the picture, Mr. and Mrs. Davies are an older couple who live in the house next door to Mr. Lewis and his family. They are retired now, but Mr. Davies likes nothing better than keeping busy with a constant stream of home improvement jobs. And so it came about, that finding himself with some time on his hands, he chose the unlikely month of February to begin his latest DIY project. Then quick as a flash he put his ladder up against the wall of his property and set to work.

Meanwhile, given that the next day was St. Valentine’s Day, I had been contemplating what kind of gift I might present to a rather attractive lady rat that I wished to impress. After much deliberation, at long last the inspiration came to me that she would surely appreciate a nice bunch of snowdrops. Then wondering where I could find such lovely wild flowers, I soon recalled that I had seen them growing in splendid profusion in Mr. Davies’s garden. And thus it was, that on the same morning that my next door neighbour erected the ladder on his lawn, I found myself walking under these very same steps towards the flower bed on the far side of his garden. And before you ask – yes, fans, I was of course familiar with the age-old notion that it’s bad luck to walk under ladders. But since I had never seriously imagined that there WAS such a thing as bad luck, this piece of advice seemed like sheer nonsense to me, and so I proceeded on my way.

Sure enough, my outward-bound journey proved to be quite uneventful. I passed beneath the contraption with no nasty surprises, and quickly filled my arms with the stunning white blooms. It was, however, on my return home that a whole great avalanche of disasters began tumbling down on my head…

And thus it happened that I had just got underneath Mr. Davies’s ladder when something cold and wet landed on my nose. Assuming it was a raindrop, I licked it off, and promptly got a mouthful of bitter chemicals. But before I had time to realise that this was actually spilled paint, I glanced down to see my beautiful bouquet of white flowers covered in deep red blots that looked for all the world like blood. Upon this, I let out a scream, and my flowers scattered to the four winds!

Startled by the sound, Mr. Davies peered enquiringly under the ladder, only to spy a white rat in a tweed jacket and bow-tie ejecting bunches of snowdrops into the air. At the sight of that his heart leapt with fright, and the sudden shock unbalanced him. Then, as he tipped backwards off the steps, he landed with a SPLAT in a bulk bag of building sand, sending showers of the stuff into my eyes! The sharp little grains made them smart and flow with water, so that I was forced to snap them shut – meaning, of course, that I now couldn’t see. And so it was, that while I was shaking my head in an effort to clear my eyes, a revived Mr. Davies was clambering speedily out of the sand bag.

Next thing I knew, something had seized me by the tail and was swinging me up to the sky. With that, I screamed again and twisted round to sink my teeth into a large, hairy hand. There was a cry of pain from my neighbour, followed by a crashing sound as he stumbled into the ladder, and I suddenly saw a tidal wave of red filling the horizon and racing relentlessly towards me. Then just as I fell free of the man, the paint overtopped me and turned me scarlet from head to toe! But directly after that it all went very dark, and I soon noticed the sound of my own breath coming back to me with a strange metallic echo.

Not long after this I began heaving and squeezing my way out from under the paint-can, till at length I emerged squinting with the strain into the morning sunlight. To my surprise, however, Mr. Davies was nowhere to be seen. Could the tin have actually landed right on top of me all by itself? I was still pondering that philosophical question, when another sudden noise made me abruptly look up. It was then that I discerned what appeared to be an abandoned paint brush sliding off the window sill above me. As I stood there frozen in disbelief, it grew rapidly larger till with a resounding SMACK it hit me square between the eyes!

Ouch, that hurt! What on earth was going on? I was clearly being targeted, yet not a single human being was in sight!

Rubbing my sore head, it was at that moment that I realised that all of these calamities were taking place on the thirteenth of the month – a number long associated with misfortune. So was it true, then? Was this my unlucky day?

I was still turning it over in my mind, when a familiar and much admired female person came into view on the other side of the garden. Yes fans, this was, as you correctly guessed, the same lady rat for whom I had earlier gathered the bright white flowers as a romantic gift. But I was horrified to see that she was now walking arm in arm with a weedy-looking black rat who had thinning hair, oversized ears and a flittering, flattering tongue! And yet, defying all known laws of good judgment, there she was, gazing amorously into his dark and devious eyes as if he were the noblest creature that ever graced the planet! As he bent down to pluck her a solitary snowdrop in token of his devotion, I just couldn’t contain my contempt! I mean, REALLY! Did she actually prefer that creepy little feral fur ball to ME, the one thousand three hundred and thirteenth in line to the Throne of Rattyland? ME, the Acrobatic Aristoc-Rat? ME, the one and only Lion-Hearted Super-Rat, of international acclaim?

Then I finally understood the truth. It wasn’t bad luck that was bombarding me with all these obstacles to my heart’s desire. It was my very own, thoroughly dedicated, and hopelessly workaholic, guardian angel! And now that he had actually got through to me, I really couldn’t be more thankful for his services. After all, what was a dousing in red paint compared to the woes of a doomed romance? Huh! Bad luck, indeed! As a result of this enlightening experience, I’m now quite sure that only ignorant, superstitious people still believe in THAT.

And so, dear fans, I leave you with this thought. Good things often come to us in disguise, so my advice is, when something bad happens, we should always keep calm and look for the hidden positives to cheer us up. Well, I was going to say a lot more about this, but surprisingly, the lights have just gone out. Hmm, must be a power cut, I suppose…

OW! Darn it, I must have tripped on the rug and then hit my knee trying to get my flashlight, and – OH NO! Now I’ve knocked my cup of coffee over! I don’t believe it, there’s coffee over all my important papers! They’re ruined, they’re ruined! Well, so much for looking for the hidden positives, fans! From now on, bad luck or not, when horrible things happen to me, I’m never EVER going to say another cheerful word about them in my life.

And that’s FINAL!