Archive for October, 2012

Anyone who lives with Fancy Rats, quickly learns  they have as many personalities as colors and sizes. After living with these wonderful creatures for years, I have come up with categories of rat personalities, and from time to time, have to create a new one for a unique rat.

Here are my categories, if you should see one that needs to be represented, feel free to send it on.

1) The Builder: This is a rat who feels the need to modify any space they occupy. Victor would take every box offered and immediately chew a window in the back, enlarge the door and open a small space at the top before he would relax. The other rats will simply take  advantage of their work.

2) The Thief: It won’t take long for you to figure out you have a thief, a simple cage cleaning will reveal their secret.  If you have a thief,  you will find unexpected objects hidden in their bedding. Coins, pencils, cords, receipts, batteries, cash, hair clips and anything else within their reach. They will wrestle you for the objects as you try to remove them.

3) The Spaz: This is a rat you bring home, hand feed and try to bond with, yet every noise sends them into a frenzy as they run for cover. They will often bond to one person, and one person only, hiding if others come into view. They will squeeze themselves into impossible spaces to hide from noise and intruders.

 4) Timid Tilly: This is a rat that wants to be with you, but it will take hours of patient coaxing to connect. When you enter the room, they hide, then ever so slowly, they stick out their head. It often takes many tries before they will come to you. (Unlike the spaz that will stay hidden until you force them out.) These timid beings are  worth the effort, often ending up as one of the special rats in your life. It takes them awhile to trust you, but once they do, you have a true friend.

5) Mouth Diver: This is the rat that watches every bite as you eat. You share a bit here and there, but they feel you are lying when you say “all gone.” They will attempt to pry your lips open to check, ignoring the “food already in my mouth is mine,” rule.

6) Robe Runner:  A robe runner feels the need to be inside your clothing. They dive down your neckline, prowl through your shirt,  tickle your stomach and sleep in the warmth. You ARE expected to cease the use of any arm if they want to sleep in a sleeve.

7) The Stasher: A stasher will take every scrap of food available and put it in the corner of their tank, storing up for who knows what. The fact that the other rats will empty out his stash never thwarts their effort. They rarely eat what they take, but they work hard at building the stockpile.

8) The Tank: These are  the rats who often take food from the stasher. They hunker over their bounty as they enjoy the take. If you, or another rat should approach them, they pivot in place like an army tank, showing you their back as they resume their meal. They will pivot as many times as needed to protect their treat.

9) The Opener: An opener can crack any package.  They don’t need thumbs! They can open any box, can or bag left alone. Often times you never know your food was breached until you realize it is stale.  They can even tilt a beverage can to sip at the bounty without dumping it on the table.

10} The Nurturer:  This is the rat that takes new rats under their wing, and defends them from bullies. They can be seen grooming younger rats and chasing off older, aggressive rats. They will do whatever is needed to keep peace.

11) The Escape Artist: This is the rat that will get out of his tank and laugh at any barrier you erect to keep them in a certain room. You will spend hours tracking this rat to bring him back to the fold. One thing you can be sure of, the Escape Artist will always find his way home for food, friends and water.

I end here with Rat Rules:

If I can see it, it’s mine.

If I touch it, it’s mine.

If you touch it, it’s mine.

If you think something is yours, it’s not, it is mine.


If I want attention, you will stop all activity and pay attention to me.


Dedicated to;

Mr. Earl
Stevie Ray




A photo prompt is provided and all are invited to write a story in their own style based on this prompt. Please take a minute to read the entries at Picture it & Write, you’ll be glad you did. You can click HERE or on the graphic at the bottom of the story.

It’s astounding, time is fleeting
Madness takes its toll
But listen closely, not for very much longer
I’ve got to keep control

Leave it to her to pull up the “Rocky Horror Picture Show,” at a time like this. A nervous chuckled escaped as she pushed further into the corner, picturing Riff-Raff, Magenta and Columbia singing Time Warp. Actually, it was the perfect soundtrack , because her past was firmly fixed in her mind, but her future began to melt the minute she was grabbed. Time was indeed fleeting.

Reaching for the handle of her ancient truck was the last thing she remembered before waking on a lumpy mattress in a dank, wood-paneled room with a dirt floor, devoid of windows. Her shoes and jewelry were missing, but she was relieved to see she still had her clothes on. The man came by from time to time, his approach signaled by the sound of boots on a cement floor. Each visit was the same, he unlocked the door, placed a tray of food on the bed, stroked her hair, then left, wordlessly. The name “Ginny” would be forever etched in her mind as it was emblazoned in red letters on the brown bag, complete with ragged eye holes that he used to cover his face.

She had tried begging, tears and anger, but he refused to speak. Most of her time was spent searching the room for possible weapons or staring at the bedside lamp. It was during one of these staring sessions that she hatched a plan. Pulling the sheet from her bed, she wrapped it around the glass lamp, hoping it would muffle the sound as she smashed it on the floor.  Removing her pantyhose, she filled them with broken the glass and other parts before tying them off.

The next time he came, she was waiting behind the door. The first blow elicited a scream and the second drove broken glass into his eyes. Screaming, she swung once more, smiling as he crumpled to the ground. Dropping her makeshift weapon, she bolted to freedom before using the phone at a local diner to call 911 and wait.

Picture it & Write Website

Click to read or submit your own story.

It’s time once again, for the weekly, 100 word exercise known as the “Friday Fictioneers”. Go HERE to read the stories or submit one of your own.

“I can’t do this,” she moaned, falling into a booth. What made her think she could run her own diner? Up at five, she was cook, busboy, hostess, maid and cashier. Cash flow only let her hire one girl for the busy lunch hour.

Pulled from the seat by a knock at the door, she found her hubby, arms full of take-out.  Ordering her into a booth, he cleaned the kitchen as she ate, than bundled her in the car.

“I can do this, but not alone,” she smiled, squeezing his hand as she dozed off.

They were gonna make it work.

When the memories came, they tore at her stomach with icy fingers and hijacked her mind. It didn’t matter if she was hunched over a keyboard, or in a green room preparing for a T.V. appearance. The terror would suck her into the seedy, addiction fueled  violence that was her youth.  A time when her mother lived in the bottom of a bottle and her father, who refused to admit he was part of the problem, expected her to care for the house, and her mother. If she failed to meet his standards, she was rewarded with cigarette burns and beatings. She was ten when one of his lessons left her bleeding, with loose teeth and a broken rib on the bathroom floor.

Huddled on the bed, she waited for him to pass out before slipping out the window. Wracked with pain, she made her way to the local hospital, after that, things got blurry. Confusion reigned as they tried to find her parents and more importantly, who would pay the bill. Eventually they called in a social worker, who, after one look at the battered girl, set the wheels in motion to secure a better life for her.

Reluctant at first, and afraid of her father’s reaction, she begged them to let her go home, but her mentor refused, eventually making her see that her parents needed help and that what was good for her, was not one of their priorities. After bouncing in and out of a few foster homes, she met her new parents and discovered a talent for writing that they encouraged. Over the years, her body had healed, but her mind wore band-aids, ready to fall off at any time.

Now, she was a successful author. Two of her books had been adapted for the big screen and she was working on a Broadway play. At the age of thirty-three she had met a man who just may be the one she would grow old with. She had money, a great house and a few friends she could count on.  Life was good. Her mother had died years earlier, but her father had tried to make contact a few times, hoping to cash in on her fame and fortune, she ignored him.

Jumping as the intercom sprung to life, instructing her to head to the set, she thought about her organization and the kids and women it would help. Vowing to get as many of them out of violent situations as she could, she took a deep breath and headed to the stage to sell her latest book, the one with fifty percent of the proceeds going to the “Kids First” organization. She rose from the ashes, now it was time to help others fly!

A photo prompt is provided and all are invited to write a story in their own style based on this prompt. Please take a minute to read the entries at Picture it & Write, you’ll be glad you did.

Pulled from her slumber by the most annoying alarm clock in the world, she slapped the off button and stretched. The first thing to reach her sleep filled eyes was the poster her significant other obsessed over. After dating for more than a year, she hoped to sway his decor choices. Receptive to most of her choices, he let her change the sofa, tables and rugs. However, he stood firm when it came to the tacky poster looming over their bed, the one that made her feel like a teen living in her parent’s basement. She hated that poster almost as much as she hated the bright green ball cap he insisted on wearing on his days off.

Things were great at first. They shared romantic dinners and stories from their youth. They had a comfortable routine before things slowly began to change. He started coming home at odd times and spent hours hunched over his computer, mumbling equations as he scribbled notes on napkins or anything else that was handy. He forbade her to clear the clutter, having a meltdown after she tossed a single paper napkin. He spent countless hours locked  in the garage, avoiding her and her questions. His only comment was that she would be proud of him as his efforts would have an epic impact on the world.

Curiosity turned to worry when she opened her credit card statement. It was filled with a ton of purchases she hadn’t made, but that wasn’t the disturbing part. The charges were for were for chemicals, electronics, tools, metals, fuel and other items she didn’t recognize. Storming out the back door, prepared to drag him from the garage she froze as her eyes tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The garage was gone! Poof, missing! Staring at the hole in the ground she backed into the house, bolting the door as panic took over.  Peering out the curtain, she verified her insanity, the garage was truly missing. How could that be? There was no explosion or fire! Where in the hell did it go?

Stopping to splash water on her face, she blotted it with a towel as she made her way to the bedroom. Who should she call? Who would believe her? Where had he gone? It was more than her mind was prepared to handle. Falling on the bed, she leaned against the headboard, squeezing her temples. Think girl, think! Letting her eyes wander to the poster she growled, hoping it wasn’t the only thing left of her lover.  She picked up the phone to call her sister, but her fingers froze when she saw the spot on the poster.  Hovering at the horizon, just to the right of the sun was a man-shaped blob. Getting up for a closer look, she gasped when she recognized the bright green ball cap and contented smile.

“I did it girl!” he mouthed as she screamed.


Picture it & Write Website

Click to read or submit your own story.

It’s once more time for the weekly photo prompt exercise known as the Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Madison Woods and all of her generous photo contributors, a lucky group of us get the chance to read, or write our own 100 word stories based on the prompt. Mine is below the picture, the link to find the other stories or directions for adding your’s is below.

Thank you Madison and WELCOME Rochelle!

Lounging on a bench, she swore the bus was glaring at her. Tossing her hat on the seat, she vowed to chuck it all, and watching the milling, often crabby travelers only strengthened her resolve.

Floating snippets of conversation gave her pause and chipped away at her anger.  Things like “first grandchild,” ” I really need this job,” “may be  the last time I see mom alive,” filtered through.

Realizing her’s was a small role in a larger plan, she reclaimed the driver’s seat and put it in gear.

Picture it & Write 10/14/12

Posted: October 15, 2012 in Uncategorized

A photo prompt is provided and all are invited to write a story in their own style based on this prompt. Please take a minute to read the entries at Picture it & Write, you’ll be glad you did.

“Oh my god! It’s still here!” she squealed, slapping her sister on the back as she ran toward the tree.

‘Ow, that sorta hurt! What’s so important about that damn tree anyway?” Jeannie asked.

Her eyes lost focus as her mind traveled back in time. It was nineteen-seventy five all over again and she was here with Vince. Just seventeen at the time she thought she and Vince would be together forever, but different colleges in different cities changed those plans. Since then she had loved and lost. She married, had two great kids and divorced.  She wasn’t complaining, her life had been good, but thinking about Vince did make her heart flutter a bit.

“Hello? Earth to Barb!” Her sister hollered, swatting her on the rear.

“Sorry,” she muttered, returning to earth.

“What’s so special about the damn tree?” Jeannie asked again.

“Sis, you are looking at the spot where I lost my virginity,” she replied, her ears turning red.

“Here!” Jeannie squealed.

“Yup. It was after the homecoming game and I swore that Vince and I would be together forever!” she grinned, “guess that ship sailed.”

“Ya think, its only been like, thirty-seven years!”

“I know, but I can’t help wonder what would have happened. There was something special about Vince.”

“Right, something special about a horny, teenage boy on homecoming night. Get real Barb.”

“Don’t make fun, it was special to me,”  she pouted.

“Ok, sorry,” her sister said, grabbing her up in a hug, “we best head back, mom will kill us if we’re late for your homecoming dinner.”

Patting the tree, Barb let her hand feel the bark as she circled the tree before heading for the trail.

“Oh my, you scared me!” Jeannie yelped.

Running around the tree to come to her sisters rescue, Barb stopped in her tracks when she found herself eye to eye with Vince.

“Vince!” She whispered.

“Barb,” he smiled.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I heard you were in town and couldn’t stay away for some reason.”

Feeling like a third wheel Jeannie backed away, “Mom is expecting us Barb, are you gonna be on time for dinner?” She asked, knowing the answer before she opened her mouth.

“I don’t think so Jeannie, tell mom I’m going home,” she said, linking hands with Vince as they moved through the trees.

Picture it & Write Website

Click to read or submit your own story.