The rats were the only ones big enough to carry the gears and the cogs.
They were the only ones big enough to tear open the toaster and steal the wiring,
the only ones big enough to drag it all into the walls.
After all, the spiders couldn’t have done it,
not the mice, either, no matter how much they might’ve wanted to.
And the squirrels tended to stay in the yard,
but the rats,
they were a different story.
He caught glimpses of them, shining fur, eyes aglitter with mischief.
They noticed him, too, but they paid no mind to the owner of the house.
Their business was in the walls.
He noticed broken electric things, the open blender, its motor gone,
the whir and the hum moved to that space, where
the sounds tormented him for days, ever-increasing in volume and fervor,
a symphony of mechanical shenanigan.
And when the walls of the house finally crashed open,
the great machine thrust forth a great rat,
a fat, brown one with a tin foil crown,
and Clyde fell to his knees and wept with joy,
for the rat king had arrived.
—-
Like short fiction? How about a whole dang book of it? My newest release is available in both print and ebook on the Amazon. Link down yonder.
Professional Stringer of Words 