Dear friend, I have been in danger many times, and have managed to escape by skill or luck. This time I knew I would have to die for my family. The cat could cope with only one rat at a time, and that rat would be me. If I could manage to struggle before I was eaten, the cat would be sufficiently occupied that the others could run past us. I took a last fond look at my darling wife and children, even gave Roger a farewell glance. Then I walked towards the cat.
It was a big animal with green eyes and sharp teeth in its smile. It could afford to look relaxed. It had us trapped. I came closer to those fat grey paws, and I looked up at striped legs, the paler fur on its chest, expecting it to be the last thing I would see. Still, it didn’t move. I looked up further. It had put its head on one side and was studying me, maybe wondering which part of me it would eat first. I was determined to die with dignity. I stood on my hind legs. “I am Spinnaker of the Ship rat clan.”
The cat’s smile grew wider. “How do you do,” he said. “My name is Barker.”
Barker? I dropped onto all four paws. Barker! I knew that name.
“You have made excellent time,” said the cat. “Only moments ago, I had a dragonfly message from Moonshine.”
I was so confused I could not make so much as a squeak. We had all thought that Moonshine’s friend was another mouse.
The cat went on, “It’s my understanding that you’re on your way to Ratenburg. Moonshine sometimes refers travellers to me with the request that I act as guide and mentor in the town. Oh! You look rather embarrassed. I apologise if I’m intruding.”
“You’re a cat!” I exclaimed.
He gave a purring laugh. “Barker is an unusual name for a cat. I often have to explain it to visitors. Do you want to hear?”
I nodded, aware that Retsina had crept to my side.
“I live with two nice people,” said the cat. “The husband wanted a dog called Barker. The wife wanted a cat. They decided to toss a coin, and a most curious thing happened. The coin landed on its edge. So they settled for a large cat called Barker.
“The woman told me I had one important duty. ‘Take care of the rats and mice,’ she said, and I did. I’ve been taking good care of them, from that day.”
I’d had some bad experiences with cats, but this creature was different. He was quite relaxed and his claws were hidden. My heart stopped racing and I asked, “How long have you known Moonshine?”
“Ages, dear fellow. We’re both getting quite grey in the whiskers. He likes to help travellers at his end, and I do my best here. There is, you know, a little stream of rats going to Ratenburg.”
“We haven’t seen any other rats,” said Retsina.
“Is this your dear lady?” asked the cat.
“Yes, this is my wife Retsina.”
“Charmed to meet you,” said the cat. “Well, these days it’s not so much a stream of rats as a trickle. The dangers on the way appear to have increased, which is why we endeavour to do our best.” He waved a paw. “Are these your children?”
A head came up from behind the corncob. “Not me, shipmate,” said Jolly Roger, who had been out of sight. “I’m from the Pirate rat clan and a friend of the family.”
Beta came forward, staying close to me and her mother. “We thought you’d come to eat us,” she said to Barker.
The cat shuddered. “Oh, my goodness, no! What a horrible suggestion! No offence, my dear, but I’m a vegetarian. Speaking of which, did I interrupt your breakfast? I’m terribly sorry.”
“We’d almost finished,” said Retsina. “We were about to go out to drink from the tap.”
Barker flicked his striped tail. “The tap? One drop at a time? That is so tedious. Come with me and I’ll offer you my drinking bowl—full of fresh water.”
We followed him around the corner of the house, where a pottery bowl sat on a platform of bricks, near a herb garden. I could smell sage and mint, but the smell of cat was stronger and I wasn’t entirely comfortable drinking from cat-tainted water. I remembered, however, my earlier prejudice about mice, and while I still believed that cats were usually enemies, I was prepared to see Barker as an exception. He really did take care of us.
He told us that the town of Grissenden was intensely ratophobic. “The people blame rats for every misfortune. If a child gets a cold, it’s caused by rats. If milk turns sour? Rats again. I knew of a woman whose car had a puncture, and she said rats must have chewed her tyre.”
“That’s absurd,” I said. “Why would a rat want to bite a car tyre?”
Barker waved a paw. “It wouldn’t. But that’s the problem with phobias. When something goes wrong, people look for someone to blame. They don’t care if their accusations are unjust and illogical. They still do it. In Grissenden, the victims are rats and mice.”
“Are you saying it’s not safe to go through the town?” I said, wondering if it would be possible to go around it.
“Oh goodness, I know what you’re thinking. You really do have to go through the town. There’s the sea on one side of it, and a nasty big river on the other. I wouldn’t recommend either. What I’m saying, my friends, is that you must observe a few rules. Number one is walk at the edge of the main highway. Cats and dogs aren’t permitted on that road, and you can be sure motorists aren’t going to get out of their cars when they see some rats. They’ll simply go home and write a letter to the paper. Rule number two is never eat anything. The most delicious morsels are laid out in tempting places, and all are poisonous.”
“Including vegetables?” Retsina asked in a quivering voice.
“Not here, my lovely,” said Barker. “You can eat anything here. My employers grow excellent corn, as you have discovered. I’m talking about poison in the town of Grissenden.” He looked at the ratlets. “Tell me, little sprogs, what is rule number two?”
“Never eat anything in Grissenden,” they chanted.
Barker purred. “One hundred per cent correct. Now for rule number three. Never, never go near a trap. Grissenden traps are fiendishly clever, and they are everywhere my dearie-os. Big traps, small traps, traps that look like rat shelters, traps that look like smiling mouths. Rule number four is beware of cheese.”
“Cheese?” Jolly Roger’s jaw dropped. A slice of cheddar was his favourite meal.
“Yes indeed! Cheesy-weesy! The people of Grissenden have made rat-catching a highly developed sport, and they now have a cheese known as REC. That stands for Rat Effective Cheese. It’s highly aromatic, and many rats find it irresistible. For the sake of your dear ratty lives, avoid cheese.”
“All cheese?” asked Roger.
“Absolutely all cheese.” Barker blinked at the Pirate rat. “But if you were obeying rule number two, you would not be thinking of cheese. Is that not so?”
“Of course,” said Roger in a businesslike voice. “My question was merely for the benefit of these young rats, who might be misled.”
I looked at him. He was an impossible liar.
Retsina, who was claiming the memory map for Grissenden, went through the list. “One, walk at edge of main highway. Two, eat no food. Three, avoid traps. Four, ignore all cheese.” She paused. “Thank you, Barker. That is very helpful. How far is it to Grissenden?”
“You’ll come to the highway by high sun, and you’ll be through the town before darkness. You need have no fear of hawks in Grissenden. Too many hawks were caught in rat traps. What a how-de-do! Feathers all over the place! Now they avoid the town like the plague. Occasionally, we see a blue-tailed song hawk here, but don’t worry, my darlings. I will go with you as far as the town. Once you’re on the highway, you’ll be safe as long as you obey the rules.”
I found it incredible that a cat could be so helpful. “You are very kind,” I said.
Barker waved a paw. “Think nothing of it, dearie-o. It’s my job to take care of rats and mice.”
For most of the early morning, we walked through farmland, Barker beside us. As I’ve already mentioned, he was a big cat, almost the size of a dog. Only once did we see a hawk, and it was a mere speck in the sky. Barker took no chances. “They have eyes like telescopes,” he said, and he made us all stand beneath his body. I needed to explain to the ratlets what a telescope was, but at the same time, I was looking around me at a grey and white furry roof supported by four strong fur pillars. If the hawk did see us, it would not dare attack.
Near one farm, we passed a curly black dog that would have come after us, had it not been for Barker. The two knew each other. “A fine morning to you, Barker,” called the dog, while greedily watching us. “Doing your good deed for the day, are you?”
“Nice to see you in such good health, Towser,” Barker meowed. “How did you like those vege dog crackers I gave you?”
The dog’s expression answered that question, and it turned away, its tail curled between its hind legs.
Barker smiled at us. “Don’t mind Towser. If his teeth and stomach were as good as his heart, he’d be a remarkably fine dog.”
Near the outskirts of the town, the cat led us to a small stream where we could drink again. “Fill yourselves. It’s a hot day. There’s nothing worse than dying of thirst and seeing a fancy bowl of poisoned water. Remember, from here on through the town, your pretty mouths are only for talking.”
It was time to say goodbye to Barker. I had a speech prepared, about the guidance of our family star and how it had brought us amazing help in unexpected ways, from a hedgehog, a mouse and a cat. I wanted to talk a little about the importance of this journey and how these three creatures had given up all their selfish instincts to help us on our way to Ratenburg. I stood on my hind paws and looked up at Barker. “I would like to say—”
He interrupted. “It’s my job. Goodbye, my dearie-os.” And with that, he ran off, his long legs stretching over the grass, like those of a galloping horse.
Again, we formed a walking line, the ratlets between me and their mother, and Jolly Roger somewhere in between, next to whoever would provide an ear for his fantastic stories.
A small rise took us onto the highway, where there was a considerable amount of traffic. Not that we went on the road. We travelled in the vegetation at the edge and sometimes needed to cross patches of short grass. The humming beans who roared past in cars must have seen us, but, as Barker had predicted, no one stopped. Each vehicle caused a wind that ruffled our fur, while the big trucks, thundering by at speed, caused a gale that tangled our whiskers and sometimes knocked us off our feet.
In one patch of cut grass we passed a few ripe cherries, shining in the sun, although there was no cherry tree nearby. Further on, there was an intact meat pie resting against a thistle bush.
“These foods are so obviously poisonous baits!” said Alpha, pointing at the crust untouched by birds or insects.
I addressed my children. “Ratlets, let this be a lesson to us all. The cherries and pie look most appetising, and the only reason we know they’re toxic is because we had a warning from a charitable cat. Let us also be charitable. We should not tell ourselves that all cats are bad. There are some notable exceptions—like Barker.”
Beta said, “Most rats think cats are bad. I suppose grasshoppers think all rats are bad.”
“Grasshoppers?” Gamma frowned.
“We eat grasshoppers,” said Beta. “They must hate us.”
“For goodness’ sake, Beta!” Gamma cried. “Grasshoppers are different. They’re made to be eaten.”
“They are insects,” said Beta. “They are living creatures and they have feelings.”
Before Gamma could retort, Delta said, “Beta’s right. The relationship between cats and rats is the same as that between rats and grasshoppers.”
“It isn’t,” said Delta. “I don’t eat grasshoppers.” He thumped his tail against the ground. “They’re greatly overrated, all crunch and no taste. Give me a fresh sparrow egg, any day.”
Retsina stepped between Beta and her sons. “I don’t like all this talk about food,” she said sternly.
“We were only thinking out loud,” protested Gamma.
I agreed with my wife. “Thinking about food leads to talking about it and talking leads to eating. If you want to employ your minds, think of something worthwhile. Focus on Ratenburg.”
We continued along the edge of the highway. On either side, beyond the strips of vegetation, were high metal fences, mesh big enough for rats, but not of a size to admit cats and dogs. Through the fences, we glimpsed more roads lined with humming bean houses.
Barker’s number one rule, walk along the highway, was not difficult if we also obeyed the other rules. The only time we had to walk on paved road was at the turn-offs, side roads that went down to the town. There were not many of those. The main danger came from the baits, which looked very appetising.
“Here’s another one!” shouted Alpha. “Chocolates!”
On the grass, a square of gold paper presented two dark chocolates that had not melted with the sun. A few steps on, there was a small mound of sugar-frosted cookies.
I realised it was impossible not to think of food when we were passing the kind of meals we dreamed about. The ratlets were fascinated. I could see saliva shining on Beta’s whiskers. “Listen!” I said. “We will take note of these baits. How many are there? Let us count the number of times we could have died.”
That worked. Their fascination turned to dread as the tally rose: a ham sandwich, a bag of peanuts, two hard-boiled eggs, some potato chips, a whole rasher of cooked bacon. Now each item represented a dead rat.
The baits seemed fewer as we neared the other side of the town, but here we found a new danger. Retsina, who was walking in front, suddenly dropped out of sight.
“Mama!” the ratlets screamed.
My dear wife was unharmed, but if she had been on her own, she would have been trapped in a metal-lined hole in the ground. The ratophobic humming beans had dug the hole, lined it with some tin pipe and placed grass straws over the top. She had fallen through.
She was more annoyed than upset. “May a thousand fleas infest their armpits!” she said, stamping her paws. “May their teeth fall into their porridge!”
It was easy to pull her out. We employed the same rat-tail tow that we had used to get Delta out of the bog, but this time there was no sucking mud to hold her back. Retsina came up the side, spitting crumbs of dirt and angry words. “Do they call that a sophisticated trap?” she said.
“Watch where you step,” I called to the others. “If you can’t see earth, there probably isn’t any.”
Later we saw another hole, just as carefully disguised, grass stalks on top looking like mown hay. I poked the edge, and the stalks fell into the deep, slippery pit. How fortunate we were to be a family, I thought. A single rat travelling this road, without family and friends, would not get far.
It seemed that poison baits had been replaced by traps, but near the end of the road, a special scent hung in the air, something so tantalising and delicious that it had to be the REC of Barker’s last warning. I had never smelled anything like it. It was as though all my wishes for cheese had come true and moulded themselves into one flavour. My nose and whiskers trembled. Saliva ran down my fur. Every one of us was affected, and Jolly Roger was making tiny squeaks as though he was in agony.
Yes, my friend, it was cheese, but oh, what cheese! That smell drove us mad. We hurried, following the thickening of that wonderful aroma, and saw in front of us a huge trap. Set well back from the road, between some small bushes and the high mesh fence, it was simply a big version of an old-fashioned mousetrap. It had a spring holding a steel bar that would be released when the bait was touched. The bait, of course, was a slab of that special REC. Rat Effective Cheese!
“Come away, ratlets,” I called.
“Wait,” said Roger. “This bait isn’t poisonous.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
He pointed. “Look at those ants.” He indicated three black ants that were removing crumbs of cheese. “It’s logical, shipmate. They don’t put poison bait in a trap. Why would they? You can’t kill something twice.”
“Stay back, Roger,” I warned. “It’s big and it’s deadly.”
“It’s also got the best cheese in the world—and the ants are eating it!” Roger jumped up and down. “Spinny, me lad, I know traps. I can release this and the cheese will be ours.”
My whiskers were dancing on my face, but I could not find fault with Roger’s argument, so I supposed it was simply the marvellous smell that was making my face hair mobile. I watched while Jolly old Roger gnawed a stalk off a fennel bush. He dragged it across to the trap. “Stand back, everyone!”
We all stepped back a pace.
Roger eased the fennel stalk over the wooden base of the trap, while we all held our breath. He pushed it further in, touched the spring, and slam! The metal bar came down, crushing the stick and making the trap lift off the ground. Roger gave a cry of delight, and as soon as the trap settled, he ran forward to collect that lump of REC. “You are mine!” he yelled.
At the same time, Retsina shouted, “Stop!” and she grabbed Roger’s tail. She yanked it so hard that he turned a backward somersault, landing on the ground as a second metal bar, nearer the cheese, thudded down with great force. Roger sat on the ground, staring at near death.
The ratlets walked backwards, and so did I. The cheese was probably now safe, but we had lost our appetites. Roger didn’t complain about Retsina grabbing his wounded tail. Indeed, he didn’t say anything. Head down, and slightly wobbly, he walked away from the trap, and we all travelled in silence out of the town of Grissenden.