Everyrat of age must die by metal snares beside the High Walls on which is written in toothspeak: Go, go quickly with one fell squeak before the mewing beasts turn up, put you on the run from fickle clawed death never to know when you're done. But the end shouldn't be so ratty or so thinks this rat, catching the crumbs of giants— rice grits and cookie dough sugar cubes and beer drops— a proper last supper before facing the gallows which it never does. A doctor, on a quest for the ugliest things, offers this rat surgery to turn it into a cat, "change a rodent, touch a god," says the doc, while tucking some fat with needle and thread, curling its snout with surgical staplers; as for the fur, a little brushing does the trick, rat in cat's clothing turns out quite dashing. Mewers all over can't help but take notice, "Pity you're in the pit." They offer a paw and pull him up but then the beasts let go. They offer a paw and pull him up; they never do pull through. When he snaps his tail in one bad fall that's when they've had enough. "Welcome to the club," they applaud and leave him to climb out on his own.

Ringo's Rat Tales                                           

Anne Carly Abad has recently been nominated for the Pushcart Prize for her poem "The Bitter Gourd's Fate", which was published by Niteblade. Her work has appeared or will appear in NameL3ss Digest, Apex, and Not One of Us. Find out more about her at http://the-sword-that-speaks.blogspot.com.

Anne previously appeared in Chrome Baby 26.