Stories of Rats

Since Hope was really little I have occasionally made up stories for her at bedtime instead of reading them to her.  Growing up my dad would be the best story teller (remember Gomer Pile and the fly, dad?) and I imagine a little of that has rubbed off on me. 

There are two series that I have sort of evolved – one is about a Princess and her Unicorn and the other is about Two Rats named Ratsy and Softy that live in our basement and the adventures that they have. 

So, obviously Miss H knows that the Princess and her Unicorn are completely fictional; however the Two Rats stories sort of blur the line.  You see, they live in our house (so the story goes) and they have adventures with our cats and they try to avoid the family, etc…

It’s really funny because one night, I told her a story about Ratsy and how he had noticed a bald spot and to fix it he had  chewed some grey fur off of Miss H’s teddy bear and glued it on to his head and then of course his misadventures in getting it to stay on.  Well I kid you not, the next day we were playing in the basement (where their hidey-hole is allegedly located) and there on the floor in H’s playroom is a tuft of grey fur.  I have no idea where it came from or how it got there but Miss H spied it and pounced on it, holding it up and saying “It’s Ratsy’s!!!”  Definitive proof that the rats were indeed real. 

Miss H has been known to leave out treats for the rats and will look for crumbs and foot prints the next morning.  I may or may not (ahem) arrange evidence to look as though the rats were there.  It’s fun, you know?

Except then this situation happens:

The other day, I am taking Miss H and her friend to the park to splash in the little stream there.  On the way we happen to pass a dude who is holding a large white rat.  Of course Miss H stops – she is transfixed.

“Is that a rat?” she asks.

“Yes” he confirms

“Is he your pet?” 

“Yes”

“We have two rats at our house.  They live in our basement.”  She says.

The guy looks at me over H’s head and says, “Really?”

I shake my head slightly and mouth no.  I’m horrified this guy thinks we’re harbouring wild rats in our basement.

But H has no such inhibitions.

“Yup, REALLY.” She insists. 

Oh dear Lord.  I’m in a bind now.  Admit to this random guy that we have rats in our basement or admit to my dear girl that the whole story is a lie and that Ratsy and Softy don’t really exist. 

He looks at me again.  Good thing Miss H is too absorbed in petting his rat, she misses my vigorous head shakes of denial. 

He looks at me like I’m crazy.

“C’mon girls!”  I say. “Time to go!!” 

Lets get the hell out of here, I’m thinking to myself before this gets worse.

And so we leave. 

And of course H insists on a Ratsy and Softy story that night. 

All I can say is – Thanks a lot, dad.  I’m blaming this all on you because….well, if your stories hadn’t been so good I would probably not be misleading my daughter with my own stories.

Hmmph.