I briefly considered putting this in the Pit, but I realized this is a very small issue, and my rattie is far too sweet to pit. So I’ll just write a nice, open letter to her.
Dear Bettina,
You are the sweetest little ratface. Always so well behaved and clean and nice. Even people who don’t like rats love you and say how pretty you are.
You’ve carved a notch in the right side of the collar of every one of my shirts. This I forgave.
You love sitting just inside the neck of my shirt while I walk around. Sometimes your little claws scratch me a bit. This is also forgiven.
Sometimes you advertise to the world that I am yours by letting just a drop of pee out onto me. I understand that this is because you love me.
But you are no longer allowed to explore my computer desk. Why? Probably because of how you dunked your entire body into my cup of coffee last night and then dragged your soggy self all over my desk. Hubby found this very funny, but probably only because it was not his desk. Or his coffee.
Coincidentally, this is also why you didn’t get a treat this morning.
Rat in my coffee? Let me count the ways
My coffee lacks the depth and breadth and height
it used to reach; It’s feeling a bit light.
To the ends of the desk and monitor
my coffee’s spread in drops and muddy trails.
My coffee’s smelly, like bedraggled pup.
My coffee’s furry, how could I miss that?
My coffee has the flavor of a kiss
from my kitty when she’s left a door prize.
'Tis coffee that I really wouldn’t choose
to bring my boss. 'Tis Cafe du Willard
“Rats,” say I, “I smell a rat,” and that explains
Bettina’s manic prancing. That or crack.
