My name is “Ready Randy,” otherwise known as “Smarty, leader of the pack,” sometimes even “Packrat.” Everyone relies on me because of my intelligence. I am charming, passionate, charismatic, practical, and hardworking. Many times, because of my cunning, I lead my brothers to safety.

Mankind is not always as kind as one might think: a rat man named Joe has threatened our pack. He baits several traps, strategically hidden on an ivy-covered hillside in places where we like to nest.

Fortunately, because of my shrewd, clever mind, many lives have been saved from a horrible, untimely death. While invisible, my built-in antenna can sense where these diabolical mechanisms are placed with their delicious poisonous pellets that when eaten, will kill you.

Because of my wit, I have been nicknamed ‘Smarty’ but some of my following do not listen to my warnings and are lured into the traps because of their greed. When they leave the trap, they are filled with poison and many are found dead on the upper trails--a sad, sorrowful sight.

My pack, and I are beautiful creatures of the earth, energetic and versatile, we find our way around obstacles and easily adapt to our environment. I can be the best of friends to almost anyone, but am highly exclusive in my choices, as most friends, I find, are not trustworthy.

There is, however, a pretty, little girl with long, blond curls and big, blue eyes, named Mary, who has adopted me as her pet friend – one whom I can trust. She lives with her parents on the hillside, here, where the wild ivy grows.

Very, very early on Saturday mornings, while her parents are still asleep, she sits on the back step of her porch softly and sweetly singing: “Smarty, Smarty, let’s have a party.” I can sense that she will be there, long before she arrives. My sharp ears are always alert to her sweet-sounding voice and in seconds, I am there to greet her.

We break bread and soft cheese together. While she sings, I squeak my grateful acceptance for the delicious treats that she provides.

Mary loves to stroke my soft, gray, silky skin. I shiver and tremble at her touch, but don’t let this bother me.

She is the dearest friend a rat could ever have! I can trust her and she can trust me. Why can’t the world be more friendly like Mary and love us rats for our intelligence and good looks?

Copyright © 2008 Mary L. Ports