|God of The Rats (standard:Suspense, 1688 words)|
|Author: Jim Lekaks||Added: Feb 06 2003||Views/Reads: 1933/1238||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|God of the Rats (1700) is the story of a nameless man who experiences a psychotic break while watching his cat molest a rat. The horror of the moment combined with other common stresses in the man's life overwhelms him, pushing him into a rage of violence|
God of The Rats Sitting at my desk, looking out through my window, I hear the rain. The famous sound of rain descending onto a tin roof and overflowing into gutters I should have cleaned months ago. This audio tranquillity is masking a high pitched squeaking sound I have been able to ignore- but can ignore no longer. Through my window, out on the porch, I stand to see my cat molesting a small rat. I stand still, mildly disturbed and captured. I am passively frozen by this inextricable mis-match, which among other things, dramatizes god's complex sense of humor. I move to get a closer look. The contest is savage and perverse- just like the cartoons. The rat is standing on his hind legs and weighs in at under 10 ounces. His little arms held up to his long nose like a miniature over weight, out of shape boxer in a mohair coat and Groucho glasses. The cat on the other hand- must weigh 15 pounds and presents itself like Godzilla over Tokyo. Unless the mob has action on the rat, it is going to be an absolute slaughter. James "Buster" Douglas vs Richard Simmons type stuff. Hopeless and brutal. With a spasm of butchery it will never understand and with a mastery of murder it never questions, the cat bats the rat with a mighty cat uppercut- sending the rat somersaulting three feet into the air then bouncing on the wooden porch just like you would think a rat would. I wince and involuntarily tense up like I was the one pin wheeled. I groan through my teeth, and come to realize that the throbbing in my temples is from the clenched and battle ready fists which have flowered at the end of my arms. Face down and flared out on the mat, the cat juggles the rat again, again, again, again and again finally catching the little man by the head in its mouth. The cat then rolls the rat's head into a saber toothed front lobby, being ever so careful not to crush it and spoil Luau. What in the name of all that is good must the rat be thinking? It is too damned disturbing to imagine. I exhale "Jesus H. Christ..." and clear the vain curse off the windowpane. The trial stays in motion, but takes a twist. Unexpectedly the cat lets the rat go and retreats several feet away discarding the rat in the rain. The shattered wet rat, breathing heavy, can't gather the life or the nerve to run. Its tiny black eyes focused on an imaginary piece of cheese one-thousand miles away from this- this rat-mare, this horrible face off, this rat-tax come due. After several moments the rat cautiously rolled his body back over his hind legs and rested. It was now ready to spring away from his tormentor but didn't. The rat waited, calculating his chances, trying to anticipate cat's next rush. If the cat broke right, the rat might break left. If the cat broke left the rat might break right. A miserable no good fifty fifty. Life or death had become heads or tails. A joke. A mockery. Any hope of escape was based on some cosmic strain of great rat luck. I began to tremble. "Who is responsible for this?" The rat waited. His eyes on his enemy. Just a moment longer- not quite yet- careful. Just one more instant... The flash of the cat's next assault broke the rat's inertia and he leapt straight up and away to find a better life away from the 15 pound angel of death. Hissing, the cat caught the rat in mid-vault by the face and swooped it up into the air for the second 3D deliverance of this stormy afternoon. The rat hit the porch, bounced once, like a large potato and was jacked in the mid-section by a paw of razor sharp claws. The rat then brought forth a tremendous squeaking, like he'd been stepped on or run over by a bicycle. He then went limp and urinated on himself thus having or feigning a heart attack- I guessed. Given the same circumstance I have no doubt Chuck Yeager would have done the same. The cat jumped back and cocked its head blinking, trying to grasp this unintentional knock out. The confused cat flip flopped the rat around for several testing whirlabouts, then held the rat by the flank in its mouth. It was a far-fetched con indeed, only to be tried after hiding or running and running and running. Except for the cat's nervous tail, we were all perfectly still. Click here to read the rest of this story (84 more lines)
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