My magical metaphorical menagerie

My magical metaphorical menagerie

Spot bang in the centre of my chest, a rat king resides. It has been inside me for a long time, forever, maybe even before I was born. It sits to the right of my heart, with its multiple tangled tails knotted around my spine. If you look at me naked or in a swimsuit, you can see where the tails are it is a stiff swelling, an unmovable block of muscle in the middle of my back.

It is there in my chest, just behind my solar plexus, heavy and unmoving.

Don’t look at me like that! We cohabit just fine! It is there, only taking up a little of the space that my lungs need to breathe and that my heart needs to beat but, it isn’t that bad.

I can, after all, live a functional life, I get around, I am a little stiff, a little stooped but I manage: I can work, make friends, and even love quite well.

However, if I ever dare get ahead of myself, if my heart soars too high or my hopes rise too much, it’ll bring me down to earth with a sharp bite from its multiple teeth. Surprised at the sudden pain, I fall brutally back to earth, not understanding how or why I fucked up so badly.

Don’t look at me like that! We all have baggage. It just so happens that mine takes the form of multiple long tailed rodents. But hey, there are worse things in life, aren’t there?

In truth, my rat king isn’t that solid and unmoving. Sometimes, when one of them wants to get loose, it starts to wriggle and writhe until it manages to break free. It can be a little painful, my rats all have sharp claws, and they have to dig their way out, but it is all part of the process. Then the truth comes out. I say:

“I have fallen out of love with you” That was a few decades ago, it hurt when it came out but popped out quite fast and scurried away into a hole. Nowadays, I realise it was no big deal really and I wonder why it was painful.

“I want to stop teaching” was more difficult, it came out kicking and screaming but carried ideas for a new profession with it, so I was happy to see him.

“She hurt me” was an explosion of pain and anger who set my head spinning. I was glad when she slithered away.

“I’m gay” shimmied out, dancing to the tune of YMCA, covered in glitter and waving the pride flag before scampering off to a night club. They’d been cooped in for almost thirty years, after all, and needed a party.

“I can’t be your wife anymore” swam out in a river of seemingly endless tears.

“I love you” was a little different. Firstly, she wasn’t a rat, she was a beautiful blue eyed gatinha, just like you. She also stayed with me, settling like a soft scarf around my neck, purring into my ear and as light as a feather.

I don’t think she is in the same category as the rats, but she was part of the unspoken menagerie I carry inside me, so I decided to include her too.

When the rats leave me, it is usually quite pleasant afterwards. I breathe more deeply, my heart beats more fully, I laugh from my belly and not my head, I am almost euphoric. I really like it just after a rat goes, I wish I could always be like that, but that’s impossible.

There is one rat, the largest one, that just won’t budge. He is tremendously old, older than me. He is the father of the others and crouches deep inside my chest, his tail wrapped tight around my backbone, and he hides his face away. His lover, sly Secrecy, has wound her long thin body around his, to hide his identity and to fix him in place even more.

I know he is there because a minha gathina linda occasionally pops in to check on him and help me investigate. She pushes at him with her nose, rubs her head against him and pats him with his paws but he won’t let go, nor will he reveal himself.

This is what I know.

I know he has almost lost all his rat-like features: his fur has fallen out and his naked body is heavily scarred, his whiskers have drooped, his ears are moth eaten and he is so hugely obese that he can hardly move. The only features that are still rodent-like are his long scaly tail and his sharp teeth and claws.

Secrecy is far older than him, she is almost as old as time himself, but she has aged better. She is long and lithe, her skin is smooth and shiny, her face is pointed and cunning. She distracts anyone who approaches him, tries to confuse them, and says that there is nothing to see there and to look elsewhere. If none of that works and they won’t leave she hisses at them loudly to make them flee. She is the worse of the lot and I would like to exterminate her.

There are also many smaller rats, babies really: the man who jostled me hard on the train the other day, the colleague’s bitchy comment or the client who just doesn’t get what I need to do my job… They are easy: I say their name and they pop out and scurry off quickly without even having the time to cause any pain.

One day, I will get him out. I will inquire, explore, and eventually manage to grab hold of him and drag him out by force. Then I will hold him up to my face, his stunted paws will be scrabbling away in panic, and look him in the eye, unafraid.

Because I am sure that once out in the open, in the cold light of day, he will not be as terrifying as everyone had thought.