A Late Night Ponder

The rat was back again.

Derek clenched his teeth, back rigid and stiff on the cot. He could hear it clicking, its tiny feet padding up and down the kitchen, crawling on top of the pots and pans. He couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t there, because it was making more noise than the air filtration system. It was getting more daring, because the rat knew.

They had lived in this constant battle for more than two years. The rat would clang around in the kitchen, rummaging for the non-existent rations, and he would lay rigid in bed rummaging for the courage to fight a rat the size of a small dog.

The rat knew he would never leave that cot, no way in hell.

He turned to lay on his stomach and buried his head into the pillow, trying desperately to block out the noise. Why did he even try to fool himself, he wasn’t going to get up, he never was. That rat was far braver than him. 

Perhaps the rat and he weren’t so different. The rat was trying to survive, as was he. The rat borrowed it’s way into an underground bunker, trapping itself with another dangerous animal, he was down there with it. The rat was probably as lonely and hungry as he was. 

What if the rat had a family, before it happened? Derek imagined a nest of rats, the mother tragically killed and the baby rats left to fend for themselves. Did he cry as his mother succumbed to radiation sickness, and his siblings and himself got separated? Did rats even build nests?

He briefly remembered him mom’s panicked face before he closed that train of thought, it wouldn’t do him any good now. 

Did the rat want a family? He knew he did. Someone to talk to, someone to love. 

What if the rat was the same as him? Wanting a family and scared to death of confrontation. Who wanted to make friends with another animal, even if it was the only option now?

Well, now he did. 

What's so different about a rat? People had pet rats all the time! Of course people were more likely to get a dog, but the rat was the size of a dog so that had to count for something!

'The first step,' he thought to himself, grinning, 'is a name.'

Then all of his thoughts ran into the ground. 

He didn't know the rat's gender. 

How could he even figure that out? Did rats have noticeable...genitalia? Isn't that kinda weird? Finding a rat just to figure out if it has a—

You know what, gender neutral names would be fine. 

Max?

'No, stupid.' Said a voice in his head which he hoped was himself. 

Sam?

'It sound kinda like a rat name.'

No, no. He had to give the rat a meaningful name, it didn't matter if the rat had a girl name or boy name, it was the 21st century, but it had to be a clever name for a rat. 

What were famous rat figures in history?

"Micky?" He said aloud.

Seemingly in response, the rat made a loud disgruntled clang.  

He didn't know where to go from there. Surely there were other rats to choose from, but it wasn't like there was any good reading material in his bunker, much less books about rats. 

Well perhaps he could take inspiration from current events, that was how he named his childhood goldfish. President Trump only lasted a few days.

“Bubonic Plague?” Well it wasn’t exactly current events, but it still sounded wrong. 

The rat knocked a package off the counter, he chose to think that was an approving noise.  

“You’re my friend now Bubo...” he mumbled before closing his eyes. That night he was content in sleep knowing he would soon have a new friend. 

The next morning he thought for a moment that perhaps the decision he made the night before was the product of sleep deprived rambling, but then he imagined himself cuddling that mutant rat and smiled involuntarily.

This, much like communism, sounded a lot better on paper than in practice.

The fact that he now saw the rat as a friend in his mind didn’t sem to matter to his heart rate every time he heard noises in the walls. One night he got up in the middle of the night, still half asleep, to use the human waste removal station. He heard the rat rummaging around in the kitchen while his feet were touching the ground and in the next moment he was on top of a counter without the need for conscious thought. He didn’t know how he was going to befriend Bubo without being able to have his feet on the round while the rat was out and about.

He started his journey with the concept of giving the rat more food. He knew that if the rat was satiated and full, it would be less likely to eat his face while he slept. The food rations were severely depleted after two years and the only stable nutrient source were the dubious grey wafer which reminded him soylent green. Even he felt a deep pain of hunger on the constant, he couldn’t imagine how scarce the food may be for the rat, even if it did raid the kitchen every night. 

He left out a handful of dried chickpeas, and a line of them leading to his room. It was a gamble, but he was prepared to face the rat even if it attacked him the moment they met face to face. He really didn’t have anything else going for him. 

He sat in the corner of the room, knees to his chest, and waited. At around 0100 hours, the smallest of squeaks emanated from the kitchen. He sucked in a quiet breath and held it, trying to ignore the wild uptick in his heart rate.

After around five minutes, the rat's hulking silhouette peaked around the door frame and followed to the end of the trail of chickpeas, it’s tiny paws holding the pea in place and it’s large buck teeth gnawing into it. He didn’t breath for a full minute, but then released it noisily. He expected the rat to immediately flee at the slightest noise but to his surprise the rat only turned around and held his gaze, staring. 

He didn't move an inch. 

The rat didn't either. 

Slowly, so slowly that one would have to focus hard to see any movement, he reached out his hand and placed a single chickpea in front of him folded legs. 

The rat started for a moment, almost considering, before rearing up on its hind legs and rubbing at its snout with its tiny paws. Then it slowly crawled forward and snatched the chickpea away before scurrying off into the dark. 

Perhaps the rat, too, just wanted a friend.