We May Be Rats But We Ain’t Chicken

     You dirty Rat! Try counting all the times you’ve heard that remark. You know, it’s not really fair; the reputation that rats have, I mean. It’s really a disgrace.

And who am I, you ask.

And what do I know about rats.

Well, I’ll tell you. My name is Ralph and I am a rat. And don’t laugh at my name because it also happens to be my father’s name. I guess I’m what you would call a junior only no one has ever called me that.

But that’s beside the point. My big gripe has nothing to do with my name. What rattles my tail is the horrid reputation we rats have. And it’s all the fault of you humans.

Humans have really given rats a bad rap. Why to listen to you guys’ talk you’d think we were the worst things going.

It’s not something new, either. Humans have made the name rat synonymous with scum from day one—even going so far as to make rat the worst degree of scum.

It goes back to the days of Aesop and his Tale of Two Rats. You know the one—where he has the nerve to suggest one rat took advantage of another rat to attain personal wealth. Or sure, rats have done that on occasion but when they do we call them humans because you guys wrote the book.

And then there was the bubonic plague and to hear humans describe it, you’d think we started it.

Well enough is enough. I’m going to set the record straight. I’m tired of all the bad things humans have been saying about us and I’m going to put an end to all the lies.

I’m going to tell you a story about one of our most famous rats. His name was Richard and he was what you might call a river rat. Oh, how he loved the water.

Richard had spent his younger days in and around the banks of the Thames. From there he could watch the big ships coming and going. He listened to the older rat’s stories about the great ocean liners that were revolutionizing sea travel. It was a great time to be a rat and London was a great place to live if you were a rat.

But Richard was restless. Like many river rats before him he yearned for something bigger. He yearned for the open sea. He bided his time and kept his eyes and ears open and in the spring of 1912 he found what he was looking for—the biggest, most luxurious, most spectacular ship of its day. Of course, he was looking at the Titanic.

Richard said goodbye to all his fellow river rats and boarded the great ship. He did this at night. Thanks to you human’s rats have to do most everything at night. And so, on the night of April 11, 1912, Richard stole onto the great Titanic.

The next morning the ship sailed out of the harbor as bands played and flags waved and the people sang. Smaller boats accompanied her shooting giant streams of water into the air.

And the passengers! Let me tell you about the passengers. The women were dressed in the finest gowns of the day. They wore elegant jewelry and very expensive shawls made from the skins of many of our animal friends to ward off the early morning April chill.

The men wore fine suits with handsome ties and impressive hats making it plain to everyone that they were the elitists of the elite.

Of course, our friend, Richard, did not hand down this description. There was no way in God’s animal kingdom that Richard could have seen any of this because he was hiding down in the deepest, darkest, dankest corners of the ship. If anyone had even caught a glimpse of poor Richard it would have been “rat overboard” if you know what I mean. Where Richard was forced to stay was even lower than the servant’s quarters.

The servants were all the maids and butlers, waitresses and waiters, cooks and dishwashers, and all the other attendants who worked to make the Titanic the greatest ship in the world. The servants lived just above the rats.

Naturally, Richard would have liked to have spent more time on the main deck but he knew his place, and besides he was just happy to be at sea. The Titanic was so big that it would have been impossible to see all of it even if he could go anywhere he wanted.

So he spent his days scurrying around the lowest decks. He experienced the excitement of the engine room—men shoveling coal into the giant furnace, like there was no tomorrow, to feed the flaming fires. As the fires grew larger, the clanging of the pipes got louder and the men worked faster and the fires got bigger and the clanging got even louder still and the excitement became the greatest experience ever for the once humble river rat.

Above the engine room, in the kitchens and laundries, the hustle and bustle was just as impressive. It was here, among the servants, that Richard was happiest. He really did like people and it seemed that the servants were kinder to him. It wasn’t that they liked him or went out of their way to be nice to him but at least they didn’t scream every time they saw him.

That’s what happened the one time Richard ventured up to the top deck. He knew he shouldn’t have gone up there but he couldn’t help himself. He had been down in his little corner resting after a busy day of sightseeing when he heard but the faintest sound of music off in the distance.

He listened from afar until he could no longer hold himself back and so, he began his long journey to the ballroom. He snuck around corners and ducked in and out of doorways until at last he set eyes on a great dance floor. It was a sight few rats have ever seen and fewer rats have lived to talk about.

He was looking at a razzle-dazzle extravaganza that rats don’t often get a taste of. He was in a rat’s world’s heaven—something above a first floor flat, something better than a rich man’s garbage can, something even better than a country club kitchen. This was the whole shebang—bright lights and music, good food and wine. He almost felt ritzy and that’s saying a lot for a rat.

But he made one drastic mistake—a mistake that nearly cost him his life. In his excitement, in his overwhelming happiness, he forgot the one thing that rats must never forget. He forgot that he was a rat.

Instead of lurking in the background and ducking in the corners, Richard forgot who he was and wandered smack dab into the middle of the dance floor—everyone else in coats and tails and him just in tails.

Needless to say, he didn’t stay there long. He was discovered almost immediately and all hell broke lose.

“Eek!” shrieked one lady before passing out.

“Haa!” yelled another.

It’s a funny thing about those two words, eek and haa. For a long time we rats thought they were the only words you humans spoke. For a very long time we thought they were a type of greeting since they were always spoken upon first sight, although even the most friendly or personable of us were hard pressed to explain your great enthusiasm.

Then, as the years went on, it was decided that eek and haa were forms of goodbye because although they were spoken at first sight they were always accompanied by a swift departure.

It is only in modern times that we have come to know the real meaning of those two words and so, when Richard heard them he knew exactly what to do.

As he was leaving he heard one more phrase and caught a quick glimpse of something else rats have seen repeated time and again.

The lady who yelled “Eek!” and fainted was now conscious again but still lying on the floor. She pointed to another human, a young servant girl and shouted at her.

“Get it out of here. You hear me. Get it out. You let it up here; now get it out.”

Now what the lady was referring to was that because the servant girl lived with the rats, she somehow hung out with them and was therefore responsible for Richard’s presence on the dance floor.

This was absurd. Sharing quarters didn’t mean living together and the very thought of either having control over the other made no sense. Later that night, back in his deep, dark corner, Richard felt sorry for the young girl. He fully expected the woman to be afraid of him and to scream and he knew he had ventured where no rat should have gone, but that was no reason to take it out on the young girl.

He wished there was something he could do but the truth is rats can do very little. He wanted to say he was sorry but that was impossible. On a ship as big as the Titanic, it was unlikely he would even see the girl again.

And so, when he fell asleep that night, poor Richard was both happy to be safe and sound and at the same time sad to be a rat.

If he weren’t a rat, he thought, he might have been able to help that poor girl but what could a rat do? This is actually an old rat riddle.

Question: What can a rat do?

Answer: About fifteen feet per second on a straightaway.

Anyway, Richard was not a happy rat as he drifted off to sleep that night and it was only going to get worse.

He tossed and turned and snarled and snored and was still half awake when he heard the bells ringing and the horns blowing. There was confusion everywhere. At first no one knew what was wrong. But the rats knew. They were right down there where the iceberg broke through.

Cries of fear and despair echoed through the ship where only a few hour’s earlier laughter, joy and happiness were all that could be heard. The confusion boarded on hysteria. People were running in every direction. Whistles were blowing and directions to go here or to go there were being shouted out by everyone—mostly by people who didn’t know where to go.

The rats were no exception. You know what they say about rats and a sinking ship. Richard and his companions were scurrying about like everyone else. They knew they would not be allowed on the lifeboats and would have to be satisfied with floating tables and chairs from the dining room and pots and pans from the kitchen. It wasn’t fair but that’s the way it is when you’re a rat.

This brings to mind another rat riddle, which is similar to the other.

Question: What can a human do?

Answer: Anything he damn well pleases and can get away with.

The reason I recall that riddle is because there was a very strange situation aboard the Titanic. As hard as it is to believe, there were only enough lifeboats to accommodate the very rich passengers—and not even all of them. All the others—the crew, servants, poorer travelers and the rats—would perish. This was the way the ship was designed. Those sorry souls would all perish in their quarters deep within the broken ship while the very rich found salvation in the lifeboats.

And so, as you could well imagine, the confusion on the main deck was nothing compared to the confusion below. The lights were out and everyone was running blindly about trying to escape only to find closed doors and flooded hallways everywhere. The dark belly of the ship became a death maze for rats and humans alike.

Our friend Richard was among them. But he did have one thing going for him. Having spent his whole life in the shadows he wasn’t hindered by the darkness. He saw off in the distance a dim flicker of light indicating a open passageway. He knew this would be his only chance as the ship was already beginning to tip.

He took off in the direction of the light confident that he would survive when suddenly something caught his eye. It was the young servant girl—the one who had been blamed for his presence on the dance floor. Like everyone else she was lost and was, in fact, heading in the wrong direction.

Richard stopped. He couldn’t leave her to die but he didn’t know how he could save her. He didn’t even know if there was time to save her. The ship was beginning to tip even more.

For a moment he didn’t know what to do and then, suddenly, he knew exactly what to do.

He stealthily ran back in the direction of the girl and overtook her. When he was well past her, he shrieked a giant unmistakable rat shriek like the ones he had heard so often directed towards him.

“Eeeek!”

The poor girl, even in such terrifying darkness, knew what she had just heard and also screamed. But as she screamed she also turned and ran in the opposite direction toward the light that she couldn’t even see yet.

But she would see it eventually and she would make it to the top deck where a kindly old man grabbed her and lowered her into a lifeboat.

So what became of Richard? Well, the ship did break and sank right after he had scared the young girl to safety and he did die. But he died a hero—the subject of rat lore legend.

Years later, when the young servant girl had grown to become an old lady, she would think back to that terrible night on the Titanic and she would recall with great humility that it was a rat that saved her life.